


LIVING ON THE EDGE

by The_Fifth_Marauder



Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: Drama, F/F, Murder Mystery, Post-Season/Series 04, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-01
Updated: 2018-08-27
Packaged: 2019-04-16 16:12:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 52,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14168652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Fifth_Marauder/pseuds/The_Fifth_Marauder
Summary: Set after Season: 4 / Episode: 12In this tale of love, forgiveness, murder and retribution, Franky is framed for a brutal crime she didn't commit. With the help of an old acquaintance, can she track down the real killer before the police catch up with her first?





	1. Straight & Narrow

**Author's Note:**

> Heads up, Fridget lovers... although Bridget plays a major role in this story, don't expect any Fridget action. Apologies in advance! I do have an idea for a Fridget fiction, but it depends upon how Season 6 pans out.

**_Six Months' Earlier..._ **

The high-rise office building appeared to be outdated alongside its classy, modern neighbours. Franky sighed as she checked the given address for Stapylton Investigations, before walking down the stairs from the busy street level, and knocked on the door.

 _"Ain't nobody down here but the FBI's most unwanted!"_ The male's voice sounded unwelcoming and indicated he was having a bad day.

Franky wasn't deterred and stuck her head around the door and shot him a cheeky grin. "'The X-Files', right?"

The office was located in a small basement which stank of stale cigarettes, but it helped to disguise the lingering smell of mould caused by a lack of natural sunlight. At first glance, the place was a mess with almost every surface covered with manila folders containing case files stacked precariously high, threatening to tip over at any moment. An electric kettle sat on top of an unplugged bar fridge in the corner, and the nearby bin was virtually concealed amongst the takeaway containers and scrunched up balls of paper. There was a small wooden desk which was decorated with coffee cup ring stains, several overflowing ashtrays, and an outdated computer coated in a thick layer of dust indicating it hadn't been used in years. _Talk about stereotype_ , Franky thought to herself.

"I'm almost impressed, but you're no Scully," Brian said, in-between shoving cold, soggy chips in his mouth.

"Yeah, but to be fair, you're not Mulder. I saw your ad on the notice board at the university, is the position for a private investigator's assistant still available?"

"Yep. Pay's shit, hours are whenever, and you get to make me coffee. Occasionally, I'II take you out on cases, but mostly it's a shitload of research, more research, and snooping in other people's drawers. Essentially, it's the arse-oholic life of a masochist. Think you can handle that?"

 _Arse-oholic?_ _Was that even a word?_ "Tough call. You really make it sound enticing."

"Do you want this shitty job or not?" 

"As long as I can fit it around my law studies, then sure." 

"Law student, eh? Ok masochist, the job's all yours. So what's your real name?" 

"Franky Doyle." 

"I'm the vain bastard who named this place after himself, but you may call me Brian." He offered his greasy hand without bothering to wipe it clean first. Franky took it anyway. Brian Stapylton was a crusty, middle-aged man who looked like he'd dropped a bundle of money at the races judging by the wrinkled navy blue suit which even the op shop would reject. He appeared to have a permanent scowl etched upon his face and even though he was tall, he was overweight and sported a two-day growth which matched his full head of greying hair. Franky would have pegged him as a divorcee, but for the wedding ring which adorned his finger. _Maybe a trial separation due to his tardiness?_ Despite all his shortcomings, Franky couldn't help but take an instant liking to the man. 

"So, are there any skeletons I need to know about?" Brian interrupted her thoughts. 

Franky’s intuition told her there was something about Brian's unique approach which indicated he was not the type of man to tolerate lies. _Okay, let’s try the honest approach._ "Well, I punched the host of a reality TV show twice in the face, then dumped a saucepan of boiling oil on him. He received third degree burns to his face, and the nice judge sentenced me to a few years in prison to reflect upon my deplorable behaviour."

Brian whistled as he leant back in his office chair which protested under his weight, and lit up a cigarette. "You tellin' me you knocked the living snot out of some hack reality TV host who no doubt deserved it?"

"Yeah, that's about the gist of it." 

"Good, because I hate reality shows. That useless shit-for-brains judge should have given you a medal and locked up the TV host!" Brian then got up and pushed a large stack of files off the spare chair and onto the floor. "Welcome to the seedy world of private investigation. Here, take a seat."  

**** **** **** 

 **_Present Day..._  ** 

Melbourne winters could be so unforgiving, but occasionally, Mother Nature would throw a curve ball and offer up a warm respite. Franky seized the opportunity by sitting in the beer garden of her local pub, commandeering the largest table with various text books flipped opened, along with numerous notes weighed down by ashtrays borrowed from other tables to prevent them being blown away. Highly stressed, she kept mumbling to herself as she typed away on her laptop, trying to meet several assignment deadlines. 

"Hey there, sexy lady," Bridget said, as she pulled out a chair nearest to Franky. It was barely midday, and she too, was a little frazzled from a hectic morning at Wentworth. 

Franky gave her a bear hug and planted a kiss on her forehead. "'Tis my psych in shining armour! God it's great to see you, Gidget."  

"Yeah, and I left my horse tethered out the front. Seriously, if I'd known I was going to be greeted like that, I would have rescheduled my last session. Would you like a refill?"   

"If you're buying, then yeah, sure."  

Bridget returned soon after with two glasses of beer. "A toast," she said, as she held up her glass. "To eighteen months of freedom from Wentworth!" 

Franky clinked her glass against Bridget's. Had it really been eighteen months since she walked out of Wentworth a free woman? It seemed like yesterday when Bridget had granted Franky her one wish to be greeted by a hot chick in the carpark and then drove her off into the sunset. But eighteen months is a long time when you're trying to get your life back together, and a lot can happen as Franky had discovered over the course of that time.  

"How's Uni?" Bridget interrupted her thoughts. 

Franky shrugged her shoulders. "Yep. Same."  

"Still kidding yourself, Franky?" 

"Why did you ask? If you must know, it's shithouse. It was shithouse the last time you saw me, and it's still the same, now."  

"Do you want to talk about it?" 

"Depends. Can you make the big bad bogeyman go away?" Franky immediately felt remorse for snapping at Bridget. "I'm sorry, Gidge. I've no right to take it out on you." 

"Just because we're no longer together, doesn't mean I don't still care about you. Tell me what's going on in your life. Are the students still giving you a hard time?" 

"No, they're just ignoring me these days. They don't care what type of person l am now, preferring to judge me for the criminal I used to be. These same people who will one day be standing up in a courtroom defending people like I was. Bunch of fucking hypocrites." 

"You've never put much stock into what strangers thought about you in the past. Why is it bothering you now?" 

"Because I've paid my dues to society. More importantly, I'm not that same person l was all those years ago. When are people going to cut me some slack and start treating me like a human being?"

"People like that? Probably never. Stop focusing on their negativity, otherwise it will envelope you. So what's really biting you?"

"You always could read me well, Gidge. I just don't know if this whole law thing is suited to me, anymore. It seemed like a great idea when Erica first suggested it, but now... I dunno. Would I actually be helping anyone?"  

"I'd say preventing an innocent person from going to prison qualifies as helping."  

"There's innocent people in prison too, Gidge. Just like there's guilty people who are free and should be locked up but aren't because they can afford the best lawyers."  

"Well, maybe it's time to look at other options."  

"Yeah, look I don't want to talk about it anymore." Franky started to gulp down her beer but was distracted by an attractive lady walking past their table. She watched in dismay as the redhead kissed her boyfriend at a nearby table, and shook her head in mock disgust. "Ugh! What a tragic waste."

Bridget laughed. "Earth to Franky, are you still here?" 

"Barely. Feeling like a bloody nun these days, Gidge." Franky turned her attention back to Bridget. "So what's been happening on your end?"  

"I'm heading off tomorrow for a psychologist conference in London. Given the builders are making an absolute mess renovating my house, I thought I'd extend the trip to three weeks and catch up with old friends."  

"And old lovers?" Franky nudged her slightly in the ribs and flashed that infamous smirk which Bridget still found irresistible.  

She smiled coyly. "Perhaps. So how are the jobs going? How many do you have now?" 

"Three."  

"Three jobs plus your studies? No wonder I feel like I need to make an appointment just to see you these days."

"Yeah, but at least you can take comfort in that I don't have any time to get into trouble now, huh? Anyway, I had to get another job to supplement my income, so I'm now working 2 - 3 night shifts a week as a bartender at a club called Jailhouse Rock. It's one of those pokey hipster joints which gives upcoming bands a chance to play their music." 

Bridget laughed. "Jailhouse Rock? You're kidding, right?" 

"I thought the name was apt, too. Ironically, I had to lie about my criminal record to get the job."  

"I take it work is a little thin as a private investigator's assistant?" 

"Yeah, but I want to stick it out. I'm learning heaps which I could put to good use later, should I ever graduate. Brian's cranky and a bit crazy, but he's a good man and doesn't judge me for my past mistakes, unlike all those judgemental bastards who won't let me intern in their firms for fear of ruining their so-called prestigious reputations. If it wasn't for my part time job at Legal Relief, I wouldn't have any first-hand experience." 

"Can you ask your boss for more shifts at Legal Relief to help free up your nights?" 

"Only if I work _pro bono_ , but thanks to recent budget cuts, I work less shifts now, and as much as I'd like to work for free, I still need to eat and pay my bills."  

"That offer of using my contacts to set you up with a law firm still stands," Bridget reminded her.  

"No way! I've told you already I'm not accepting any more handouts. I need to do this on my own, Gidget."  

"Franky, it's okay to reach out and ask for help. I know things have been difficult for you, but hang in there, okay? If you ever need to talk, I'II always be here for you. It doesn't matter what it is, I'm just a phone call away." 

The sound of a car horn blasted nearby.  

Franky's mood became morose as she realised that the only person who was ever really there for her, ever truly loved her, was about to leave the country. Bridget sensed the shift in Franky's mood immediately. "Hey, cheer up! I'll be back before you know it."  

"Thanks Gidge." Franky gently placed her hand on top of Bridget's and squeezed it affectionately. "I wish things could have worked out between us."  

Bridget smiled. "Sometimes, one needs to sacrifice a relationship in order to save the friendship." 

The constant blaring of the horn brought Franky back to the present moment. "Alright, for fuck's sake, I'm coming! She shouted. "Listen, Gidge, that's my ride. Brian wants me to assist him on a case." She gathered up her belongings and stuffed them into her backpack. "Be a good girl in London and if you won't behave, well..." 

"Be careful?"  

"No way! I was gonna say take plenty of photos." Franky hoped she sounded chirpy. The last thing she wanted was for Bridget to think she was losing it even though she felt that way.

Bridget wasn't fooled and embraced Franky, whispering in her ear, "Stay strong. We'll catch up for a talk when I get back." 

"Sure thing, Gidge. Just be sure to call my PA first and make an appointment."

**** **** ****

Brian sat in his pride and joy: a white, beat up and rusted 1970's Holden Kingswood. The interior appeared to be an extension of his office with files, lunch wrappers and empty soft drink cans strewn over the back seat. "Get in," he barked to Franky, as he shoved yet more files off the passenger seat and onto the floor. Franky obliged, but wound down the window as the car reeked of smoke.   

"Who's the hot chick?"  

"Bridget."  

"Is she single?" Brian asked.  

"Forget it Brian, you're not woman enough for her," Franky said, as she crossed her arms in annoyance.  

"Ouch! Well now that my ego is about as deflated as my rubber dolly, could you do me a favour and grab the notebook out of the glove box?"  

Franky sighed as she opened the glove box and a heap of papers fell into her lap. 

"Now you've upset my filing system, too! Jeez, you're about as much fun as my wife." 

"Had a shit day," Franky mumbled, as she rummaged through the papers and pulled the notebook out, discarding the rest on the floor. "Fuck all this!" She was in no mood for this, today.  

"Okay, spill your guts..." 

"Don't worry about it," she snapped back.  

"We're not moving, until you've flicked that chip off your shoulder." 

"Fine, then. What do you say to people who judge and treat you like shit when they know nothing about the real you?" 

Brian contemplated for a few moments before answering, "Hmmm, a good question. I look them square in the eye and tell them to stick their head between their legs and kiss their own arse." 

Franky sniggered. It wasn't the reply she'd expected. "You know that's physically impossible, right?"  

"How do you know? Have you ever tried it?"  

"No, but..."

Brian laughed. "That's the problem with young people today. They're always quick to shoot everything down before they’ve even tried it."

"Suffering from the grumpy old man syndrome, much?"  

"I'm still working on it. Seriously, are these people your family, friends or lovers?"  

"None of the above." 

"Then why are you busting your own balls worrying about what someone else thinks? You can't change narrow-minded people who don't want to change. Don't give them another thought, Franky. Move on and focus on what makes you happy. Make them kiss your arse." 

Brian always had a way with words which although rather crude, at least was honest and to the point. Besides, he was always good for a laugh and could almost guarantee to lift Franky out of the doldrums whenever she needed it most. Bridget and Brian - two different people, yet they had both drawn upon the same conclusion, albeit in their own unique ways. "Okay, Brian." She looked down at the notebook. "Where are we going?"  

"Arrrrr! 'Tis be an adventure down at the wharf we're seeking, lassie!" Brian swung the old Kingswood out onto the road without bothering to check first for any cars and drove straight towards oncoming traffic, before swerving back onto the correct side of the road again. The car backfired several times with billows of black smoke from the exhaust, but it didn’t deter Brian from driving recklessly.  

Franky pressed the palms of both hands against the dashboard, holding on for dear life. "Fuck, Brian! Where did you learn to drive?"  

"I didn't!" He gave her a mischievous wink. 

She laughed. "You are so full of shit!"  

"I've been accused of far worse. So, Bon or Brian?"  

"What are you talking about?"  

"Do you prefer Bon Scott or Brian Johnson? Choose wisely my young Padawan, as the incorrect answer will get you booted out of this car." 

Although Franky preferred the latter, she suspected the former would be the right choice, due to Brian's age and the era he grew up in. "Er, Bon Scott?"  

"Now who's full of shit? At least you're a quicker learner, even if it means you're a lousy liar." He gave her a playful punch on the upper arm before switching on the car's ancient cassette player, blasting AC/DC's 'Highway to Hell' from the speakers. Brian then stuck his head out the window and shouted to anyone within earshot: "Avast! Kiss my arse, ye scurvy dogs!"

 

**** **** ****

 

 

 


	2. Dead to the World

Franky lived on the top level of a three-storey block of dilapidated apartments in the inner Melbourne suburb of Collingwood. The tiny, one bedroom apartment came with a small kitchenette attached to the lounge room which didn't allow any space for a table and chairs, so the coffee table had to double as a dining table and study desk. The place was a hovel, but Franky put up with leaky taps, mould in the bathroom and broken heater, because the rent was so cheap and with its proximity to the city along with good public transport, meant she was able to travel to Melbourne University for her lectures – a bonus which proved to be relatively handy, given her car was in for repairs. 

Taking a well-earned break from assignments, Franky leaned back in the old lounge suite and put her feet up on the coffee table. It had been one week since Bridget left for London, and Franky purposely distracted herself by taking extra shifts at the club and assisting Brian with the case at the wharves in Port Melbourne. She took a moment to reflect upon the case: Stapylton Investigations had been hired by a major international shipping company to examine the possibility of one of their own employees using their shipping containers to courier illegal goods in and out of the country. Discretion was the key word as the company wanted to keep the police and media out of it for fear of losing several large contracts and damaging their global reputation. 

Her mind began to drift about how much she had missed Bridget during the past week, with loneliness hitting her hard again. Prior to, and during her time inside Wentworth, Franky's stunning looks, confidence, and boisterous personality ensured she was always popular with her friends and any potential lovers. Many times she was tempted to contact her old friends from pre-Wentworth days, but knew it would only lead her to trouble. 

Upon leaving Wentworth, Bridget had, and still continued to play an integral role in helping Franky to break the cycle of anger and to control her own inner demons. She understood firsthand why ex-cons reoffended and ended up back in prison, and often acknowledged that without the love and support of Bridget, life on the outside would be a lot more difficult, which was why she was determined never to relinquish her freedom again. 

Even so, there were hard lessons learnt. Not long after being released, Franky got caught up in the hype of being 'that chick who threw the hot oil over the reality TV show host', and made the error of accepting an invitation to appear on talkback radio to discuss her time in prison. Bridget had advised her beforehand to tread carefully, as not many people were open-minded nor sympathetic, but Franky brushed it off in her usual cocky manner citing it was an opportunity to raise a positive awareness towards ex-cons. It was a decision she soon came to regret as her past - which had been long forgotten in the public's eye - became current gossip once more. 

What looked like a good idea at the time, backfired as the public crucified her for cashing in further on her fifteen minutes of fame, along with the consensus that her stint inside had been a burden on the hardworking Australian taxpayers. Her newfound friends at the university immediately dwindled to non-existent upon learning the truth of her criminal record; distancing themselves by making lame excuses not to see her and unfriending her on social media. Then there was the flip side, where total strangers were drawn to her notoriety for the wrong reasons – the type of deranged people who probably sent her fan mail whilst in prison. 

**** **** **** 

It was now after 8.30pm, and Franky started to ready herself for her shift later that evening at the club, when there was a knock at the door.

 _"Oi, Franky! Are you awake?"_ Brian shouted.

Franky rushed to open the door before Brian could bash it down and aggravate half the neighbourhood. "Jesus, Brian! You scared the shit out of me!"

"How're going, sweetheart?" Brian stood there swaying in the outside corridor, nursing half an empty bottle of Jack Daniels in one hand. He had a warm, dopey smile plastered upon his face and his speech was somewhat slurred.  

"You're cruising to get arrested for disturbing the peace. I may even dob you in, myself!"

"Good, I could use a decent night's sleep. Bloody hell, I reckon you must be living in the seediest street in Melbourne! Did you know there's a couple of shady characters just outside the main entrance to the building doing a drug deal?"

"Yeah, well when you get around to giving me that million dollar pay rise, I'II be able to move into a fortress in Toorak with CCTV and my own personal bodyguards."

"You're being a smartarse..."

"And you're a drunken arsehole," Franky retaliated without missing a beat.

"Brilliant observation, my dear lady. Have you ever considered being a private investigator?" Brian laughed at his own joke and winked at Franky as he sidestepped her and invited himself into her apartment.

"I've been called in to cover another bartender's shift at Jailhouse Rock, so I can't stay and chat."

"Oh yeah, how's that going?" He said, as he took a swig from the bottle.

Franky ignored his small talk. "So why are you here, you cantankerous old fart?"

"There's gratitude for you. I was in the neighbourhood and thought I'd drop by and see if you have any new leads on the wharf case."

"Nup. Anything else before I kick you out?"

Brian sighed heavily and pulled out a bundle of unopened letters from his pocket and slapped them into the palm of Franky's hand. 

"What's this?" Franky queried.

"Could be wrong, but it looks like a stack of letters marked 'Return to Sender'."

Franky flicked through the dozen envelopes which were addressed to the same two people. "Katie and Maddison Stapylton?"

"My daughters, Franky..." Brian plonked himself down on the lounge suite, leaned forward and held his head in his hands. His shoulders started to heave and Franky distinctly heard quiet, tearful sobs from him.

"I take it you don't see them anymore." This was way out of her comfort zone and she held close suspicions she wasn't going to like the direction this conversation was heading. Yet there Brian sat, appearing defeated and in desperate need of a friend. She felt she at least owed it to him to hear what he had to say.

"The last time I saw them, was on their eighth birthday - if you could call it that." He then produced a small dog-eared photo from his wallet. It was a picture of Brian dressed as a clown with a daughter on each knee. "That's them," he said proudly.

Franky inspected the photo. "Cute little grommets." She turned it over and read, "Maddison & Katie's 7th birthday party, 25th September 2011. Twins, huh?" 

"Yep. Maddy's older by half an hour. I was constantly amazed at how they would know the whereabouts of one another. Hide and Seek was definitely no fun to play." Brian smiled at the distant memory. 

"So, the wife got the house, the kids, and the signature on the divorce papers, and you got the debt."

"Bingo!"

"That ring on your finger along with those corny wife jokes lead me to assume you were still married."

"Yeah, well sometimes it's just easier to hide behind a fake facade."

"I knew someone like that several years ago." Her thoughts drifted to Erica, and how she would appear to take comfort in the convenience of wearing her engagement ring when it suited her. She wondered if Erica had added a wedding ring to that finger, yet.

"Cynthia sought comfort in another man's arms. A rich, pompous bastard named Price." Brian sighed. "I was never home much, always out on a case trying to establish my PI business. About six months after we separated, I turned up unannounced for the twins' eighth birthday party and she refused to let me see them, so I gave her Katie and Maddison's gifts, but she dumped the presents in the outdoor bin before going back inside the house. As I left the premises, I saw Katie and Maddison peeking through the front window. I remember seeing their sad little faces pressed up against the glass and wondered if I'd ever get to hug them again."

"That's total bullshit, Brian. You gave up too easily," Franky bit back too harshly.

"Easy for you to say. Do you have any idea what it's like to sneak into school concerts once the lights have been dimmed, just so I can see my daughters"?" Brian pointed to the letters which were now on the coffee table. "I get a pile that size sent back to me every six months, always unopened and with that cruel mocking red lettering: 'Return to Sender' written across them. Guess I'll just add them to the suitcase full of letters I have stored in the attic at home." 

Franky gave him a sympathetic nod. 

Brian took another mouthful from the bottle. "It must annoy Cynthia to have to acknowledge me as their biological father."

Franky's emotions were wrestling with her heart and her head, and she wanted to grab Brian by the scruff of his collar and slap him. But then she considered what happened to her in the past was hindering her judgement of Brian in the present. She recalled the letters her own father had sent her when she was in Wentworth; the same ones she left unanswered. Swallowing nervously, she asked, "What's in the letters, Brian?"

"Birthday and Christmas cards, photos, and memories and ramblings of a stupid old man," he replied. "I'd tell my girls stories of happier times when we were a family; how much I love them and that one day I hope they'll find it in their hearts to forgive me."

"I had no idea you were such a sentimental bloke..."

"You know something else, me old Franks? They'll be turning fourteen in three months' time, and I haven't seen them since they appeared in the window all those years ago. If only I had the courage to face Cynthia and demand to see my kids, but I'd always find a pathetic excuse and swear to myself that I'd confront her the following week. They must hate me with the lies their mother would have fed them over the years and yet I've never been there for them. Never gave them a reason to doubt their mother's words. Maybe you're right, I did give up too easily."  

With this, Brian let out a soulful, gut-wrenching cry. Franky sat down alongside him, lacking the right words to say to help comfort him. But she felt his pain and a tear rolled down her cheek. Was it for Brian? Or was it for Alan - the father she so desperately wanted to come back and rescue her from her own torturous mother when she was just a child?

"I'm tired of all the bullshit, Franky, and I'm sorry if I scared you. I'll make my way home and sleep off the grog."

"Excellent idea, old man." Franky reached over and scooped up the pile of letters and photo which she had laid on the coffee table earlier. As Brian attempted to get up, he staggered backwards and Franky just managed to catch him from falling. She hastily shoved the letters and photo into the inner pocket of her jacket to free up both hands, so she could help ease him gently upon the lounge suite again.

Brian lay his head upon the arm rest, hugging the bottle closely to his chest, its contents spilling onto the thread-bare cushion. "Is your father still alive, Franky?"

"No," she lied. Alan the person was most certainly alive, but as far as she was concerned, Alan, her father, was dead.

"If you were my daughter I’d be proud of you. You've turned out to be a fine, young lady." Franky suspected it was Dutch courage, but it still touched her to hear him say these words. "For the record, if I was 20 years younger and a chick, I'd seriously have a huge girl crush on you..." He then belched loudly, closed his weary eyes and in mere moments was fast asleep, drooling over the cushion in-between loud, broken snores.

Franky chuckled and knelt down on both knees. "Sleep it off old man, 'cause you're going to have one hell of a hangover tomorrow. I'll see you in the morning." She then pried the bottle from Brian's hands and tipped the remaining amber liquid down the kitchen sink, returning soon after to cover him with a blanket. Franky then snatched her keys off the coffee table and headed out the door into the wintry night air. 

**** **** **** 

It had been a long and arduous night dealing with inebriated night clubbers and Franky longed to get home and grab a few hours' sleep before heading off to a lecture later that afternoon. She recalled leaving Brian passed out on the lounge suite and went to pull the mobile out of her jeans pocket, when she realised she had left it on the coffee table the previous night. Looking through her wallet, Franky found Brian's business card and used the club's payphone to ring his mobile. After countless rings, she finally heard Brian's croaky voice on the other end of the line. 

 _"Yeah?"_  

"Guess who?" 

 _"You'd better be ringing to tell me I've just won the fucking lottery, Franky,"_ he spluttered in-between a coughing fit. 

"Don't be like that, my little ray of sunshine!"

 _"Sick of living, are you? I really tied one over last night, eh? Did I make any promises that I couldn't keep? Because I was lying and I'll apologise if you make me breakfast - greasy eggs over easy, mushrooms, and loads of crispy bacon..."_  

Franky laughed. "Well, you did offer me a hefty pay rise." There was a long, awkward silence. "Only joking, you crusty old dinosaur. Just let me run a couple of errands and I'll do a grocery shop on the way home." 

 _"Errands?"_  

"We both have registered letters at the post office, remember? You signed your card giving me permission to pick up your letter, too." 

 _"I am incapable of remembering anything until I have had my breakfast. And coffee. Where the fuck do you keep it, anyway?"_  

Franky could hear him rummaging around the kitchen opening up several cupboards and slamming them shut again. "Okay, do me a favour and cut up the mushrooms and tomatoes. They’re in the fridge. Think you can handle that, Sunshine?" 

 _"I don't even cook for myself. Why would I do it for you?"_  

"Because if you don't, you won't get to experience the best breakfast you'll ever have." 

 _"Ok, you've sold me. This better be bloody worth it, but I have to warn you though, you'd better add Band-Aids to the grocery list, because I'm a supreme klutz in the kitchen."_  

Franky laughed. "I promise it will be a breakfast worth dying for. See you in a couple of hours, klutz. Coffee's in the cupboard above the fridge and the towels are under the basin in the bathroom should you feel the urge to scrub." 

There was another awkward silence.

 _"Hey Franky... you know I'd give you the extra money if I had it, right?"_  

"I know, Brian." 

**** **** **** 

Two hours' later, Franky trudged up the stairs carrying heavy bags of groceries in each hand. She was unable to open the door and resorted to kicking it a couple of times. _A bit of revenge for last night_. "Oi, Brian! Open up!" Dropping the bags on the ground, Franky cursed as she extracted the key from her back pocket to open the door. "You'd better not be asleep again!" 

Franky heaved the bags onto the sink's small counter and noticed several mushrooms half cut. She then picked up the chef's knife and observed the blood on the blade. "Jeez, Brian! You really are a klutz!" Walking down the short passageway, she could hear water running in the bathroom which was adjoined to the bedroom.  

The door to the bathroom was half opened, so Franky closed it to give him privacy when she stepped in the water-soaked carpet. "Hey Brian, what the fuck are you doing in there? On second thought, don't answer that question, I don't want to know!" Stepping inside the bathroom she slipped on the tiles, falling face down. 

"What the actual fuck?" 

She rose to her knees and looked down to inspect her blood stained shirt. Despite water overflowing, she managed to use the side of the bathtub without slipping again to pull herself up, and hesitantly drew back the shower curtain. Brian was leaning against the back of the tub with his throat slit from ear to ear; blood still seeping from the open wound and staining his white singlet and underwear. But it was his eyes which affected her the most, reminding her of when she held the dying Meg Jackson in her own arms, watching the life drain out of her. 

Franky heaved into the nearby toilet bowl until she had nothing left to give. Forcing herself to look at the big man, she turned off the water taps and gently closed both his eyelids with one hand. Even though Franky had seen death before, this was different as she had grown to respect this man, and she deeply resented that the last image she would have of him, was of his death mask. The thought that his final living moments would have consisted of fear and pain as he waited for Death to come and collect him, was too much for Franky to handle, causing her to break down in hysterical sobs. 

Franky had no idea how long she had knelt beside the bathtub, holding Brian's cool, lifeless hand in her own, and when she stood up, her whole body trembled and ached with pain. The tiny room appeared to spin and once again, she found herself dry retching over the toilet bowl. She then staggered into the bedroom and sat on her old bed; her first thought was to call the police and use her knowledge of the law to explain the circumstances, but then her mind became a murky mixture of irrational thoughts. In a panic, she did what came natural to an ex-con with a genuine fear of going back to prison - she fled the crime scene. 

**** **** **** 

Erica kicked off her high heels and collapsed in the comfy leather lounge suite. She had spent the last four weeks in Court defending a client for manslaughter, but the reward was the satisfaction of winning yet another difficult case which other lawyers had refused to touch. Her defence team insisted upon taking her out for a couple of celebratory drinks afterwards and she had too much wine - not the best idea given that she was required to attend an important meeting the following morning. She casually flicked through the TV channels before settling upon the 11pm news. Erica yawned and reached over to grab the freshly brewed coffee from the side table, leant back and took a sip, closing her eyes as she listened half-heartedly to the newsreader. 

 _"Leading the Channel 8 News_ _this evening, Brian Stapylton, a father of two children, was found dead with his throat cut, in an apartment in Collingwood. The prime suspect is believed to be Francesca Doyle..."_ At the mention of her name, Erica opened her eyes and leaned forward, ignoring the coffee spillage down the front of her blouse. " _Police have now issued a warrant for her arrest after her fingerprints were found on a knife which they believe to be the murder weapon."_  

A tall detective named Lachlan McMahon who was heading the investigation was interviewed by the onsite reporter: " _A man believed to be in his late 40's was found deceased in the suspect's apartment soon after midday today, when a neighbour noticed water coming through his ceiling, broke into the suspect's apartment and discovered the victim dead in the bathroom. The alleged suspect was seen leaving the premises at around 11.00am wearing a distinctive burgundy three quarter length leather jacket with a rose and dagger embroidered on the back, and black jeans. We consider the suspect to be extremely dangerous given her previous criminal history, and we ask the public not to approach her, but to dial 000 or contact Crime Stoppers."_ A profile picture of Franky from her Wentworth days was flashed upon the screen. 

The report switched back to the newsreader. " _Viewers may remember Ms Doyle as the troubled young contestant from the now defunct reality cooking show 'Pressure Cooker' who attacked the host with boiling oil, and served several years in Wentworth Correctional Centre before being released 18 months' ago. Coming up after the break, a two-car accident in Windsor which has left four people in hospital with serious injuries, and the ongoing investigation of the robbery at..."_  

Erica suddenly felt queasy. She tried desperately to focus upon the newsreader's words for a few seconds more, before dropping her cup on the carpet, and bolted to the bathroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first version to 'Living on the Edge' was completed way back in February 2016, but I stored it away for over a year before finding the time to start the long process of rewrites and editing before uploading it. (I'm a very slow writer!) Upon viewing Season: 5, I seriously contemplated not publishing this story due to the direction the writers will be taking Franky in the following season. Given there appears to be similar parallels between the two stories, I am weary of the comparison and criticism it may attract.
> 
> With this in mind, I thought why let a good story go to waste? Besides, I've discovered the bonus of bringing my first story to life has been somewhat therapeutic for me.
> 
> To those aspiring writers who have stories to tell, but are too afraid to put themselves out there, go ahead, take that leap. You can't please everyone, so instead choose to let your imagination flow and write whatever makes you happy.


	3. Nowhere to Run?

After a sleepless night taking cover under a bridge from the rain, Franky tried to keep herself warm by walking the back streets, thereby ensuring minimal exposure to people heading off to work. Leaning into the freezing wind, she buried her hands deep within her pockets, silently cursing herself for not packing a bag, as she only had the clothes she wore, keys and a wallet light on cash. 

 _If only Bridget were here._ Franky thought to herself. _She would know what to do._ Only she was in London for another two weeks. For the umpteenth time, Franky went over her options.

Friends? _Nah, they're more like acquaintances and therefore can't be trusted._

Work colleagues at Legal Relief _? They would advise me to hand myself in and where would that get me? A murder charge and a one way ticket back to Wentworth._ _No fucking way am I going back there!_

Okay, what about Bridget's place?  _The builders are doing renovations during her absence._

If she could just find a safe place so she could clear her head, work out what to do next and wait until Bridget came back, then this waking nightmare would be less daunting. She then remembered one last option and although it was a long shot, it was far more appealing than the alternative. 

_Erica Davidson._

Franky stood in front of the payphone, taking a moment to gather her courage before dialling the eight digit number she had committed to memory when she was still in Wentworth. It was long ago when she had bribed Linda Miles for Erica's new work details so she could mail the letters, and Franky hoped Erica still worked with the same law firm. On the second ring, a young lady's voice answered.   

_"Good afternoon, Sladen and Jameson."_

_Here goes nothing._ "Erica Davidson, please."

_"Whom shall I say is calling?"_

Franky realised she hadn't given any thought towards a response. What was she supposed to say? _Yeah, tell her_ _it's Franky Doyle. Y'know, the woman who slashed someone's throat just yesterday? Erica and I go way back_.

 _"_ _Hello?"_ The voice interrupted her thoughts.

Franky slammed the receiver down in frustration. "Good one Doyle, you dickhead!" After a minute's hesitation, she picked up the receiver once more and dialled the number again, but this time was better prepared. "Erica Davidson, please. Tell her it's Vera Bennett from Wentworth Correctional Centre."

 _"She's in a meeting, may I take a message?"_  

It was a temporary setback, but at least Franky knew for certain Erica was still there. It was now or never. "No, I demand you transfer me through immediately! She'll take my call, she's been expecting it." 

Franky smirked to herself as she imagined the girl on the other end in a fluster, having to interrupt Erica in an important meeting to inform her that an arrogant client named Vera Bennett absolutely insisted upon speaking to her. After what seemed an eternity of being left on hold, she was finally transferred through to Erica. 

 _"Erica Davidson, speaking."_  

Hearing Erica's voice was incredibly intoxicating that it completely threw Franky, and she felt like a giddy schoolgirl who had a secret crush on her teacher, too afraid to say anything for fear of making a fool of herself. 

 _"Hello, Vera?"_ Erica said, sounding irritated. 

"Er-Erica? Erica Davidson?" 

There was a few moments of silence. _"Franky?"_ Her whispered reply instantly softened, but laced with so much uncertainty.

Franky thought she heard a door close as if Erica were seeking privacy in her office. She leant her back against the side wall of the booth, relief washing over her. "Yes, it's me. Please don't hang up."

_"I won't hang up. Are you okay?"_

"I've fucked up big time, Erica."

_"I saw the report on the news last night."_

"I need you to know, I didn't do it. God, that sounds like such a cliché, but I swear it's true!"

_"Where are you? I'll come and get you. No police, just me."_

This seemed to snap Franky back to her senses. She wasn't sure what she expected to happen by contacting Erica, but it became clear to her that Erica could endanger her own freedom should she become involved. What was she thinking? "No! I should never have called you. I need you to know I'm sorry I've let you down."

_"You haven't let me down. Please let me help you. Do you have somewhere to stay?"_

"No. I have to go in case somebody recognises me."

 _"Y_ _our image is on the front page of every newspaper and the police have issued a warrant for your arrest."_  

"Which is why I can't involve you in this mess. Goodbye." 

_"Wait! My home address is 2 / 16 Coventry Grove, South Yarra…"_

"Forgive me, Erica," Franky said between sobs, and abruptly ended the call.

**** **** ****

"Franky?" The line was dead, yet Erica continued to stare blankly at the phone receiver. Had Franky heard the address she gave her? Erica rang through to her personal assistant. "Kristie, could you trace the last number you put through to me? We were disconnected and I need to call Miss Bennett back." 

As Erica waited for Kristie to check the system, she thought back to when she was the governor of Wentworth and how she couldn't afford for Franky to break through her fragile exterior and expose her true feelings for everyone to see, especially because she wasn't ready to accept those feelings herself. This time though, she was in an entirely different position where she wouldn't be scrutinised, nor fear losing her job. Originally, she was the scared, weak and vulnerable one, while Franky oozed confidence, cunning and bravado. Now their roles appeared reversed. The same woman who could put up such a tough facade, was now alone. Erica felt a twang of guilt. Although Franky had never lied to her, she couldn't say the same of herself. But this time, she was positive of one thing… 

"She didn't do it," Erica said out loud to herself. 

 _"Pardon, Miss Davidson?"_  

"Er, someone just walked into my office and asked me a question. What's the number, please?" 

After Kristie relayed the landline number, Erica deduced it was a payphone and typed the number into the Telstra Public Payphone Locator online, which gave the location as a back street in the inner Melbourne suburb of Fitzroy. Erica then grabbed her keys and informed Kristie she had a family emergency and would not be continuing with the meeting.

Erica's patience was sorely tested as she fought temptation to blast her horn at slow drivers, resorting to weaving her car through the Friday morning traffic. It played heavily on her mind that to prove Franky's innocence, Erica needed to find her first before anyone else did, and the longer she stayed out there on her own, the higher the chance this would end badly. One frustrating hour later she arrived at the deserted phone booth and spent the next couple of hours driving around the local streets in the rain, hoping to find Franky nearby, but to no avail.

Back at the apartment, Erica poured herself a glass of red wine and sat on the leather lounge suite, trying to figure out what to do next. Sleep deprivation from the previous night had finally caught up with her and she drifted off on the lounge only to be awoken several hours later by a rapping sound. It was now dark inside the apartment and she could hear the rain and howling winds outside which caused a tree branch to rap continuously against her lounge room window. Erica flicked on a light switch and took the empty glass to the kitchen. Another rap, but this time it came from the direction of the front door. 

"Who is it?" Erica asked, as she approached the door cautiously.

_"Erica, it's me!"_

"Franky?" Erica quickly unlatched the door. There stood Franky, shivering, her clothes soaked from the rain. Erica grabbed her by the arm and pulled her inside the apartment. 

"I thought you weren't home after I knocked on the door the first time, but then I saw a light go on."

"I've been so worried about you," Erica said, as she embraced her. Franky wrapped her arms around Erica and immediately felt the warmth radiating from her, only to feel somewhat disappointed when Erica stepped back, concerned at Franky's appearance. "You've been bleeding. Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine," she muttered. "It's not my blood."

"You're okay though?"

"Yeah, just cold and starving."

Erica helped Franky out of her jacket and hung it on a peg attached to the back of the front door. She then rushed over to the lounge and grabbed the throw blanket to wrap around her. "I was convinced you didn't hear my address." 

"I heard it, but decided I didn't want to involve you in any of this. Besides, I wasn't sure if you genuinely believed me."

"What made you change your mind?"

"I had sought cover from the rain in an alcove off a nearby lane way and saw you turn up at the phone booth. I so desperately wanted to approach you, but I was too ashamed at what you'd say. Then after you left, I realised you wouldn't have done what you did unless you were at least willing to hear my version of what really happened. So here I am, standing in your apartment, soaking wet. By the way, sorry about redecorating your carpet with mud." 

Erica laughed. "You're forgiven, and besides, I never liked this carpet. Come on, we'll get you cleaned up and into dry clothes."

Franky spent half an hour in the steaming hot shower washing away the last two days of filth, wishing it was that easy to wash away the image of Brian lying dead in her bathtub. When she re-entered the lounge room, Franky was dressed in a pair of Mark's old pyjamas which Erica had thoughtfully laid out upon the bed in the spare room.

Erica had made a plate of sandwiches and was now seated on the lounge suite, pouring two glasses of red wine. "I hope you don't mind wearing men's pyjamas. I didn't think you'd appreciate one of my silk nighties, and those PJ's were the best I could come up with at such short notice."

Franky laughed as she joined her on the lounge, biting into a sandwich to help satisfy her hunger. "You're right. Given the choice, I'd rather wear these. Besides, they won't be on long as I tend to sleep naked since I left Wentworth."

Erica blushed at the thought as she handed Franky a glass of red wine. _Same old Franky_.

Franky accepted the glass with gratitude, then like a true connoisseur of fine wines, she swirled the contents around in the glass carefully, before inhaling the aroma and taking a sip, savouring the rich, wooden flavour. "Classy. Penfolds, I believe?"

"Yes, a client gave me a couple of bottles as a thank you for winning his case. How did you know it was Penfolds?"

"I work in a bar and sometimes sample the goods before taking the bottle out to the customer. For quality assurance purposes," she said, the cheeky grin on her face now apparent. 

"Your dedication to your job is inspiring." 

"Yeah, I thought so too." After scoffing down another sandwich, Franky got serious. "Listen, we've gotta talk."

Erica nodded in agreement. "Yes we do, Franky."

Their eyes met, and they both knew it had nothing to do with Franky's current predicament - that could wait a little longer. This conversation had been a long time coming. No more lies and no more avoiding the truth.

It was time to clear the air.


	4. Truth & Consequences: Erica

"Why did you leave me? No explanation, no goodbye, not even a note."

"I didn't have a choice, Franky. Derek Channing had placed me under enormous pressure in the lead up to Jacs' death. Did you know that prick propositioned me? He said he didn't want to risk another divorce, but had concluded it was okay to allow a distraction on the side, as long as the other party didn't want to get caught, either."

Franky whistled. She knew he was a shifty bastard, but the thought of him coming onto Erica had never crossed her mind. "So what did you do?"

"I put my lawyer's cap on and threatened to sue him. He backtracked and said he was merely offering me his support. Later, I learned Channing was questioning my staff whether I was a capable governor."

"And when you refused to play his game, you instantly became a threat that needed to be eliminated to protect his own reputation," Franky finished bitterly.

"Precisely. When Bea killed Jacs, Channing seized the opportunity and forced me to resign. I barely had time to gather my personal effects before being escorted off the premises."

Franky tried to make sense of it, but she wasn't ready to forgive Erica just yet. "It doesn't explain why you never came to visit me. I thought I meant something to you, Erica."

"Franky, very rarely is a situation black and white..."

"Yeah, well, the way I see it is when Channing lynched you it gave you the perfect excuse to return to your safe, pathetic existence. Never mind the trail of destruction you left behind."

"Don't do this Franky. You have no right to presume what I know," Erica warned. 

"Then I'll tell you what I know - that I was your pet project which you groomed to make you look good in front of the Department!" 

"That's complete bullshit!" 

"Tell me why you betrayed me! I deserved better than being treated like your fucking doormat!"

"If you hadn't been so fucking careless with those letters you tried to mail to me, then maybe things could have been different!" Erica mentally chastised herself for her lack of discretion and how easy it was for Franky to get her riled up so quickly. She got up and stood in front of the heater with her back facing Franky, seeking a temporary respite.

Franky was aghast. "You read my letters?"

Erica hesitated, unsure whether she should elaborate, but the damage had already been done. "Channing intercepted your mail and decided they could be used as evidence against me, so I was legally entitled to read them - at my hearing." 

"Fuck! I remember giving that prick grief over reading the letters and asked him if he'd been turned on by what I'd do to you and vice versa. I even teased him mercilessly if he thought about having a threesome. The sleazy bastard just sat there with a smug look on his face and didn't deny any of it." 

"Fits in with what I said earlier about him, doesn't it? Anyway, having me removed from Wentworth wasn't enough for him; he wanted me out of the Department entirely by bringing me before the Board of Correctional Services for inappropriate misconduct towards a prisoner." 

"Shit, Erica, I never thought for one moment he would use those letters against you, otherwise, I wouldn't have written them." 

"I'm glad you wrote them. I just wish something so incredibly private didn't become public knowledge." Erica sighed. "Having Vera Bennett appear as a witness and voicing her concern that you and I appeared to have pushed the boundaries of the governor-prisoner relationship, certainly added credence to the whole situation." 

"Bloody Vinegar Tits. Kinda glad now she's stuck with Ferguson." 

Erica continued. "Despite this, the letters which were a major contributor towards my disciplinary action, couldn't be substantiated because it was evident I never saw the letters and therefore could not have acted upon them. Channing still fought hard for my permanent dismissal from the Department and to have my social worker's certification revoked, but the Board opted to suspend me from entering any correctional facility within the state of Victoria for three years on the condition that I didn't use my contacts within the media or appeal the decision by taking it to the law courts." 

"But you would have won. The laws for unfair dismissal would have been on your side." 

"A small and pointless victory. Channing advised me if I pushed the issue, he would make sure the right people within the legal profession heard his version which would lead to me being disbarred, effectively ending my career as a lawyer."

"That arsehole!"

"I got off lightly, considering Channing had been building a case against me for weeks beforehand. It could have been far worse." 

It was then the full realisation hit Franky with such brutal force that she felt like she had been punched squarely in the chest. "Oh my God, Erica! I've ruined your career!"

"What? Don't be absurd!"

Franky became visibly distressed and was no longer listening. "The consequences of my own stupidity is the reason why you're unable to help people like me! I waited for you to come back and when I accepted that was never going to happen, I hated you because you abandoned me just like my father did! But it was my own doing... my own fucking fault!"

Erica moved quickly and sat on the lounge suite next to Franky, rubbing her back gently with her hand, hoping it would soothe the younger woman. "No it wasn't, Franky! This is all Channing's doing. Don't you dare blame yourself, okay? You are right though about me returning to my safe, pathetic life. Mark and I were married shortly after I left Wentworth, but the marriage disintegrated a year later." 

"After all those years together? What happened?" 

"You. Well, lots of factors, but mainly the realisation I was lying to myself and misleading Mark into believing I loved him when I didn't. I'm tired of running away from my true self, so I took those first steps to make things right. I like to think I've been going through a metamorphosis and although it's been a long journey, I'm gradually getting there." Erica conceded, wistfully. 

"I'm so sorry, Erica. For everything." 

"You needn't be. I'm not. I became governor for the wrong reasons. I saw the position as a major stepping stone to be free of my father's influence over my life and enhance my career into politics further down the track. My determination to succeed clouded my own judgement to see that I lacked the necessary experience to take on a role as important as that of a governor. That said, I honestly believed I could implement major changes to rehabilitate and improve the conditions for the women, and it's why I introduced the programs. Although, I'm not entirely convinced any good came from it." 

"You're kidding, right? It was because of you that I completed my HSC and started law. I meant what I said that day during the media launch – your encouragement gave me the hunger and desire to be a better person." 

"Thank you, Franky, I just wish my ideals for prisoner reform had the support of the officers as much as it did from the prisoners." 

"Yeah, well when Ferguson took over, many of your programs were scrapped as she was a big believer in punishment, instead of rehabilitation. I was one of the lucky few permitted to continue with my studies, but others were not so fortunate. Ironically, Boomer told me later that when Vera became governor, she introduced similar programs, so she obviously saw merit in your methods for rehabilitation." 

Erica laughed. "Hard to believe Vera and I have something in common. I always had the impression she didn't approve of my methods, given she was always telling me to ease up on the staff, or warning me about your lack of respect towards me." 

"At least you were no one's little lap dog – unlike Vinegar Tits. Ferguson manipulated and kept her on a tight leash when she was governor." 

"It's not easy running a prison, and you were right in the office that day – I did get off being at Wentworth." 

"Yeah, look... I was way out of line with that comment, but jeez Erica, I was just so... _frustrated!_ I wanted you so badly, and yet you rejected my advances and it became a power struggle which I desperately wanted to take from you. I felt a connection between us and needed to push your boundaries to see if you felt it too, and that's why I bailed you up in your office that day. Tell me I was wrong in doing so?" 

"I'm not going to lie, at first I was furious you even crossed that line, but to be honest, it excited and scared the living shit out of me more than I could ever have imagined. You reignited a secret passion in me that day which I had long thought extinguished, and that kiss turned my whole world upside down in the best way possible, even if I didn't fully understand it at the time." 

"And now?" 

"Now I'm not so timid anymore. I've matured in these past few years and I know if I had my time again as governor, I'd certainly do things differently. Except the programs." 

"I hope that would include nightly rendezvous visits to my cell for some serious hanky-panky."

Erica raised an eyebrow, smiled and replied suggestively, "We'll both never know, will we?" She leant forward and refilled both wine glasses, feeling very aware of the intense vibes between herself and Franky. "It's all in the past now, but don't think for one minute that I didn't care about you. I still had my contacts within the Department who weren't fans of Channing and was able to arrange it so Bridget Westfall could work at Wentworth and continue what I had started."

"You knew Bridget?" Erica was indeed full of surprises, or more to the point, Franky realised her error was she had given in too easily to assumption, leading her to misjudge Erica completely. _So much unnecessary and avoidable hurting_.

"Briefly. When I was first appointed as Governor, Bridget's resume crossed my desk. Due to my increased workload and responsibilities, I seriously contemplated transferring your tutoring lessons over to Bridget and even went so far as to interview her, but a part of me didn't want to let you go. Then Channing took the decision out of my hands by demanding I be the one to continue being your tutor. Outwardly, I was livid, but on the inside..." Erica looked briefly into Franky's eyes before looking away again. "I was secretly relieved."

Franky was stunned at this new revelation. "You took a huge risk, Erica. Gidget and l... we became involved at Wentworth and pursued the relationship upon my release."

Erica supposed Gidget was Franky's pet name for Bridget, and a sudden pang of jealousy enveloped her. She wondered if Franky had a pet name for her too, during their time spent together at Wentworth. "Yes, I heard. You appear to have a thing for blondes in authority, don't you?" Franky chuckled at her somewhat audacious observation. "Still, I had to put your needs first, and I knew Bridget was the best person for the job because as a psychologist, she could help with your anger and past issues, along with the bonus of being capable of keeping you in line. Upon your release, I desperately wanted to make contact with you, but when I discovered you were in a relationship, I decided to sever my ties with you permanently to give you every chance at making a go on the outside without me to complicate your life."

"Yeah, well the relationship didn't survive. We're both too stubborn and couldn't overcome our differences, but we've remained the best of friends. She's my psych in shining armour." Franky reflected deep in thought for a moment before continuing. "I owe Gidge so much and there's no way I would have made it without her in those early days when I was first released from Wentworth. She's one special lady."

"I had no idea. I am genuinely sorry." And Erica meant it, too. She hesitated before placing her hand lightly upon Franky's knee and smiled nervously into those big green eyes. 

"It obviously wasn't meant to be." Franky placed her hand on top of Erica's. "Did you know you were the very first person to believe in me? You went out of your way to make me feel special that I couldn't help but fall for you. That, and the fact that you're hot as fuck!" Franky immediately sensed Erica's awkwardness and changed the topic. "Bet Channing wishes he hadn't fired you. I'd say he'd prefer you as governor over the Freak any day." 

"The Freak?" 

"Ferguson. Bea christened her with it, and the name kinda stuck. Suits the bitch." 

"I heard Joan Ferguson was responsible for Bea's death. Is that true?" 

Franky chose her words carefully. "I spent plenty of time with Bea, and there's no way she would have let that bitch Ferguson get the better of her." 

"Are you saying Bea realised she had to die to bring Ferguson to justice?" 

"Let's just say Bea wouldn't have done what she did, had she known Allie survived the hot shot administered by Ferguson." 

"It sounds like Bea went on a kamikaze mission." 

"Maybe. Look, Bea was a survivor and did whatever it took to win. So did I, come to think of it, although she was a better top dog for the women. I was too self-absorbed in my quest to cling to power to realise this, but once I left, the boxing gloves came off and we became close friends. It was only then I could see her for who she was and I came to admire and respect Red. The shitty hand she had been dealt in life, yet she was selfless to the end. Not sure if I believe in that afterlife shit, but I like to think she's reunited with her daughter, Debbie." 

"I always believed the system let Bea down. She should never have been incarcerated." 

"The Law Courts have a nasty habit of favouring the perpetrators of domestic violence and penalising the victims. Kudos to Allie for showing Bea that love and happiness do exist, gave her hope, and made that shithole just that bit more bearable for her before she died."  

Erica had no idea who Allie was, but figured she must be worthy to earn Franky's respect. 

The smile upon Franky's face turned into laughter. "Not to mention she managed to get into Bea's pants – something I never achieved! I remember giving Bea shit about tasting the McMuff. Told her it tasted like chicken and she believed me!"

They laughed, then gazed at one other until that old sexual tension of the past once again enveloped them both. Then, just like old times, Erica glanced nervously around her surroundings, as if she were back at Wentworth, paranoid of being overheard by any of the officers or prisoners. 

 _Old habits die hard._  

Franky smiled. "I missed that," she said tenderly.

Erica swallowed and forced herself to face Franky again. "What do you miss?"

Franky raised her hand and gently tucked a stray blonde wisp of Erica's hair behind her ear. "The way you look... when you blush."


	5. 'Twas a Dark and Stormy Night...

Erica awoke to the aromas of bacon and fresh coffee wafting in from the kitchen. For a moment, she thought Mark was cooking her breakfast, but she remembered that was an impossibility. Upon entering the kitchen, she found Franky cooking up an early morning feast. 

"Hey there, gorgeous! I was about to wake you. Take a seat." 

Erica felt uncomfortable by Franky's comment, let alone taking over her kitchen, but instead she opted to remain quiet and sit at the dining room table. 

Franky sensed Erica's awkwardness. "I've embarrassed you with that 'gorgeous' remark, haven't I?" 

"It's okay. Just let me get used to this whole new scenario." 

"You mean the ex-con who seriously crushed on you in prison and turned up on your doorstep last night seeking refuge from the police scenario?" 

"Well, when you put it like that..." Erica laughed. "But more likely it's been a while since anyone has complimented me, let alone cooked me a delicious breakfast.' 

Franky came out of the kitchen and placed a plate of Eggs Benedict on thick toast in front of her. "I’m pleased you've taken it as a compliment, because I've no intention of retracting it." 

"Wow, this looks divine! What’s the occasion?" 

"Actually, it's my way of apologising," Franky said, as she sat opposite Erica. 

"For what?" 

"For yesterday. I feel like a complete dick saying those things to you." 

"You were in prison. How were you to know my side of the story?" 

"Yeah, well I've been living off assumptions lately about anything and everything and it keeps getting me into trouble." 

Erica smiled. "In that case, apology accepted. Where did you get the freshly baked bread?" 

"Nicked it from the local bakery. Nah, I used the bread maker you had hidden away in the back of the pantry. Hope you don't mind." 

"I have a bread maker? It must be a leftover from Mark's culinary reign in the kitchen. I am so hopeless at cooking that Mark used to call me a klutz!" She laughed as she poured more hollandaise sauce over the eggs and tucked into some crispy strips of bacon. Erica looked up to see Franky poking the mushrooms with her fork, appearing distant. "It's more effective to eat those mushrooms than to play with them, and you'd better be careful, I can't be held responsible should your bacon disappear!" 

Franky remained sombre as she continued to stab at her food. 

"Did I say something wrong?" 

"Not intentionally. I was going to make Eggs Benedict for Brian on the morning he died. I called him a klutz and promised him it was going to be a breakfast to die for." 

Erica placed her cutlery down and leant her elbows on the table. "Are you ready to talk about it yet? I'm a good listener." 

"No, I'm not, but if it's okay with you, I'll talk anyway." 

Erica listened as Franky recollected the whole horrible nightmare. She wanted to comfort Franky and make it all go away, but the one occasion she tried to rise from the table, Franky held out her hand to halt her from doing so. Erica understood - Franky needed to speak without interruption before the painful memories became too overwhelming for her. When she finished, Franky picked up her own plate and scraped all her bacon on to Erica's, and they both completed their breakfast in silence. 

Afterwards, Erica washed the dishes as Franky dried them. "Thanks for listening." 

"Sometimes that's the best option." 

"I didn't kill Brian, but I have no way to prove it." 

"I believe you. Can I ask, did Brian ever receive any death threats?" 

"Yes, given he worked in the field of investigation, but generally from disgruntled persons who had been caught cheating on their partners. Brian used to joke that he was not doing the job right if people didn’t threaten him." 

"Was he working on any cases which may have prompted someone to follow though and kill him?" 

"I'm not sure. He may have. Everything feels distorted at the moment." 

"Focus, Franky. Did Brian have any enemies?" 

"I... I don't know." 

"If we're to have any hope of proving your innocence, then I need you to remember." 

"But that's the problem, I can't remember." 

"Even the smallest detail could help to catch the killer. Come on, think." 

Franky slammed the cutlery down on the marble counter. "I said I can't remember, okay? Stop interrogating like I'm still a prisoner! You're not the fucking governor, anymore!" She stormed out of the kitchen and into her bedroom, slamming the door behind her. 

Erica left her alone for a few minutes to cool off before knocking and entering the bedroom. Franky was cocooned in her quilt attempting to seek privacy. "Hey," Erica said, as she sat on the edge of the bed and put her hand on where she thought Franky's shoulder would be. "I'm sorry for being so forceful. You lost a close friend and I should have been more understanding." 

Franky emerged from the quilt and sat next to Erica. "It's not that. Brian's never coming back. Nearly everyone in my life ends up leaving me." She threw her arms around Erica and cried into her neck and shoulder. 

Erica hugged her in return. "I'm not going to leave you." 

Franky broke free from Erica's embrace. "You don't know that. What if they never find the killer? Every moment I'm here means you get further involved and could wind up in jail!" 

"I'm glad you contacted me. And I made up my mind to become involved the moment I chose to give you my address, so stop shouldering all the blame upon yourself. You can stay here as long as it takes to clear your name." 

"But what if we get caught?" 

"We won't as long as we're careful and take precautions. You'll need to stay hidden, and under no circumstances are you to leave this place and risk people seeing you. I'll arrange to transfer my cases to other lawyers within the firm so I can request immediate leave for personal reasons." 

"Erica, what you're suggesting is crazy!" 

"Maybe, but what other choice do we have?" 

" _We_. I like the sound of that." 

Erica smiled. "I don't want anyone else involved at this stage, but we may need the extra help later on. Is there anyone else you know of we can trust?" 

"There's Bridget, but she's in the London for a couple of weeks and would have no idea this has happened." 

"Do you think she would help us?" 

"Yeah, she's always been there for me." 

"We can do this, Franky, I know we can." 

"Wait, are you absolutely sure you want to get involved? I would totally understand should you choose to walk away." 

"If it's okay with you, I'll stick around this time." 

"I have to warn you, I'm a royal pain in the arse." 

Erica shrugged. "So we have something in common." 

"Thank you for believing me." 

Franky lightly stroked the side of Erica's face with the back of her hand. Erica closed her eyes and allowed herself to be submerged in the sensual and tingling sensation which coursed through her whole body. A little voice within – the same one which nagged at her incessantly during her employment at Wentworth – came back to haunt her once more. _No! Franky a forbidden desire! Look where it got you last time!_ She momentarily pushed that thought aside as the overwhelming realisation hit her that she hadn't felt this sexually aware in a long time and when she opened her mouth to emit a small moan of appreciation, Franky leant in to kiss her gently on the lips. It was enough to bring Erica crashing back to stone cold reality, and she quickly pulled away. 

"Franky... I... I don't think that's a wise idea given we're both very vulnerable at the moment." 

"Yeah, you're right. We have plenty to do without the added tension even if it could turn out to be a good distraction. I must admit though, after experiencing your grilling techniques first hand, I'm not sure if I'd like to lock horns with you in a courtroom." 

Erica laughed. "What do we do now?" 

"Like you mentioned earlier, I need to remember anything which could help in proving my innocence." 

**** **** **** 

It was another two weeks before Erica could finish up at Sladen and Jameson, but given her senior position within the company, she was required to come in occasionally when needed. She had bought Franky a burner mobile phone, so they could keep in contact without Franky having to call the company's landline. During that time Franky searched the Internet keeping up to date on the murder investigation, along with many hours spent writing down everything she could remember about the final days in the lead up to Brian's death. 

Erica returned home late from her final day at work to a warm place and dinner waiting for her on the table. Franky always outdid herself with each meal and Erica knew it was because she felt guilty about not being able to help out financially. Even so, Erica didn't mind supporting her and enjoyed Franky's company when she wasn't trying to hit on her. Erica secretly enjoyed the flirting, but would always make sure Franky didn't overstep the boundaries again. 

"I've been thinking of going back to my old apartment," Franky announced to Erica after she collected the dirty plates from the table. 

"What do you expect to find there? The police would have cordoned off the place and taken away anything they deemed as evidence." 

"I'm not having much luck compiling a list of Brian's final moments, so I'm hoping that by being in my apartment again, it will help me remember something." 

"Good point. Often a re-enactment at the crime scene is the best way to help jog one's memory." 

"Exactly. Besides, maybe I can pick up some of my old stuff. I feel like a freeloader not having any money to pay my own way and you've been having to feed and clothe me." 

"I honestly don't mind." 

"But I do mind. Besides, I need to get out and stretch my legs before I go crazy." 

"When do you want to go?" 

"No time like the present, that way we'll be under the cover of darkness. Do you have a torch?" 

"Yes, but I don't have any batteries," Erica said, as she retrieved the torch from the kitchen drawer and handed it to Franky. 

"There are always batteries, if you know where to look," Franky replied with a sly grin. Erica's face turned bright red. "Why Miss Davidson, I do believe you are blushing. I was referring to the TV remote. What did you think I meant?" Franky chuckled as she inserted the remote's batteries into the barrel of the torch and tested it. "Not the best, but it will have to do." 

**** **** ****

"We'll park the car here," Franky instructed Erica. "The apartment is a couple of blocks away, but just in case there's any police stationed out front, it will be easier to sneak in undetected if we're on foot."

"Do you think they'll be expecting you to come back?"

"Not sure but I don't want to risk it. Are you sure you want to do this? It's not too late to back out."

"I'm not letting you go in there alone. I could be your lookout." 

"My very own wingman!"

There was a crack of thunder in the distance, which set the neighbourhood dogs barking. It had started to spit, as Franky and Erica walked the last two blocks at a brisk pace, keeping to the laneways where possible until they arrived at the back of the block of apartments. 

"We'll take the fire escape, but be careful of any loose and slippery steps," Franky cautioned. "Hang on a moment." Franky handed Erica the torch, then knelt near an old, rusted rain pipe attached to the brick wall. She manoeuvred her arm up the narrow conduit carefully, to prevent herself from being cut by any sharp metal.

"What are you doing?" Erica enquired.

Franky extracted her arm; her fingers were now curled around the handle of a baseball bat. "I like to keep this handy - in case of emergencies." Erica raised an eyebrow. "Yet another old habit from my days at Wentworth," Franky added, with a wink.

"Right. We'll have to sit down one day soon and talk about your time in Wentworth," Erica said, half joking and half concerned.

They snuck up the rickety wooden stairs to the third floor and through the back door which had been previously forced off its hinges. It was late, and the long, narrow corridor was deserted; the overhead lights flickered and swayed from the wind which blew in from the fire escape. Erica reached out and grabbed Franky's hand for reassurance, which she was more than happy to oblige. When they arrived at the apartment, it had two planks of wood nailed across the door to prevent anyone from entering, along with a 'Crime Scene - Do Not Enter' ribbon taped to the doorframe.

"How do we get in without making any noise?" Erica whispered in Franky's ear.

"Dunno." Franky touched the handle, but before she could twist it, the door creaked inwards by itself.  "Looks like someone beat us to it." She released Erica's hand and handed her the baseball bat so she could crouch down to investigate. "The lock has a hairpin jammed inside to prevent it from latching."

"I don't like this at all," Erica whimpered.

"Neither do I. Give me that baseball bat, Erica," Franky hesitated before adding, "Listen, if it all turns to shit, I want you to run, okay?"

"I'm not leaving you."

"Just do what you're told! I want no superhero antics from you, okay? Run, and I'll meet you back at your place as soon as it's safe to do so. I don't want to have to worry about you getting hurt."

Erica reluctantly agreed, then stepped forward, grabbed Franky's face with both hands, and kissed her roughly on the lips, before releasing her just as quickly. It was over in mere seconds, and Franky wasn't sure who would have appeared more stunned - her or Erica.

"Well, I certainly didn't see that one coming," Franky quipped as she shook her head at Erica's strange but pleasant timing. "Wentworth's not the only thing we'll be talking about later, Miss Davidson."

They turned their attention back to the door, ducking under the lower wooden plank and entering the apartment. The windows were boarded up making it near impossible to see their surroundings, but for the occasional flash of lightning outside which flickered through the cracks between the planks. Along with the rain and wind beating down upon the tin roof above, there was the sound of water dripping from the tap in the kitchen and the smell of smoke in the air, giving the apartment a haunted feel. 

"Why does it smell of smoke?"

"It shouldn't. Hand me the torch, Erica."

As Franky switched the torch on there was a loud crashing noise from the bedroom. They turned to face one another with absolute fear as the same realisation dawned upon them. _There was somebody else in the apartment!_

"Who's in here? Show yourself!" Franky shouted, trying to disguise the fear in her voice as she instinctively stood in front of Erica, ready to protect her if need be.

The torch flickered and died as the sound of running footsteps could be heard pounding down the hallway - _straight towards them!_ Franky tried to judge where the person was and readied herself for impact so she could lash out. Instead, she copped a head-butt to the stomach region which brought her crashing to the ground, causing both the torch and baseball bat to drop and roll somewhere nearby. 

"Erica... run!" Franky croaked, as she writhed around on the ground in pain. More running was proceeded by a loud thump which shook the floorboards, and Franky could hear Erica swearing above a male’s voice as they fought one another in the darkness.

Franky had composed herself enough to rummage around on her hands and knees in the darkness, frantically feeling around for the torch or baseball bat. "Erica! Where are you?" Franky panicked as she listened for a reply. 

 _Silence._  

Franky finally located the torch and switched it on, relieved that it worked. She then heard the sound of heavy breathing and quickly shone the light in the right direction. 

"Erica?"

Erica was lying on top of the male’s back, pinning him to the floor, just like a pro wrestler, with his face squashed into the carpet. She held the baseball bat horizontally across the back of his neck and shoulders, applying enough pressure to prevent him from being able to get up again. Erica looked up, dishevelled and wide-eyed at first; her blonde hair a tangled mess and she was panting heavily. She then squinted into the torch's beam. "I'm... okay," she wheezed and coughed. "Just had... the wind... knocked out of me..."

"Where did you learn to tackle like that?"

Erica winced in pain as Franky held her hand out and helped her to her feet. "I have three brothers. I learnt... a dirty trick or two... during my childhood years."

"Are you okay?"

"Yep, just a sore back."

Franky realised she knew nothing about Erica's upbringing and made a mental note to ask her later, but right now, she needed answers. She turned and faced the attacker who was still lying face down on the ground. "If you try to escape, we'll thump you into the next dimension!" Erica now stood alongside Franky with the baseball bat held high above her right shoulder with both hands, ready to take another swipe.

"Please don't hurt me," he said, as he turned over, rubbing the back of his neck. He was now crying.

"Hang on, you're that homeless kid."

"You know this boy?" Erica asked incredulously.

"Yeah, he sometimes sleeps in the dumpster out the front of the building. Every time I've tried to approach him, he runs away."

"He can't be more than ten years old, Franky! What's he doing living on the streets?"

"I'm nearly thirteen years' old!"

"You can put the baseball bat down, Erica. I don't think he's going to pose much of a threat to us now. Right, kid?"

He nodded in agreement as he eyed Erica with apprehension. After the pounding he had copped from her, he was only too willing to co-operate.

Minutes later, they sat in the lounge room, with several candles now lit which cast eerie and distorted shadows upon the walls and ceiling. This explained the smoke they had smelt earlier.

"So what's your name?" Franky asked.

"Corey," he replied eagerly.

"Uh-huh. So what's your real name?"

He hesitated. "Dylan. But I hate it."

"Seriously? Why?"

"I'm named after my dad."

"Okay, Corey. I'm Franky, and the slugger here is Erica. We just want to ask you a few questions, okay?"

Corey nodded. He was small for his age and the old tracksuit pants and woollen jumper with several large holes appeared too big for his scrawny frame. Franky suspected it had been a long time since Corey had a decent meal.

"What are you doing in my apartment?"

"You did a runner, so I figured you no longer needed the place."

"You're living here now?" Erica interrupted.

"Beats living in a dumpster."

Erica continued, "Corey, there was a crime committed here..."

"Yeah, I know," he said, as he looked over at Franky. "Everyone reckons you sliced up some old dude, then hoofed it before the cops arrived."

"I have to admit it sounds brutal when a complete stranger says something like that to my face."

"Well they're all wrong. You didn't waste him."

"What makes you think it wasn't me?"

"Because I was there that night and saw the person who killed him."


	6. In the Heat of the Night

"What did they look like? Were they tall or short? Male? Female? Did they say anything?" Erica kept shooting question after question as if Corey were the one on trial, failing to realise he no longer wanted to speak for fear of getting himself into trouble.

Franky could see Corey wasn't responding to Erica's way of questioning and pulled her aside. "Do me a favour and take a look around the bedroom and bathroom and see if you can find anything."

"But we need to know what Corey saw. He could be our only hope of clearing your name."

"I agree, but going all lawyer on him is not helping. His trust in adults or anyone with authority, would be zero. We need to earn his trust first."

"Am I being too pushy again?"

"Just let me have a few minutes alone to talk to him."

Erica nodded, grabbed the torch and headed off to the bedroom.

Corey shifted from the lounge suite and opted to sit on the floor, leaning against the wall.

"Mind if I join you?" 

He shrugged his shoulders and Franky sat down next to him. "We're not going to hurt you." Corey looked at her, astonished. "Ok, but in our defence it was dark, and we had no idea who you were. Besides, given my own circumstances, there's no way we'd call the police or the Department of Social Services." He relaxed at hearing that. "Look, I understand your lack of trust towards adults, 'cause they've been letting you down your whole life, so why should I be any different?" 

"Did your parents leave you, too?" 

"Yeah. My father abandoned me when I was ten because he couldn't handle my mum's violent outbursts which was caused by her addiction to drugs and alcohol. She blamed me for him leaving and punished me by butting her smokes out upon." Franky lifted her jumper enough for Corey to see her tattoos down the side of her torso. "Each blossom covers a cigarette burn." 

Corey gasped at how many blossoms he could see on the small portion of skin which Franky was willing to show, and he wondered just how many more were unseen. _So much pain_. 

"I waited for years, dreaming and living off false hopes that my father would come back and free me from my mother and her torture chamber of horrors, but he never did. I ended up bitter and angry towards him because he escaped and I didn't. I know what it's like firsthand not to trust adults, but as you get older, you learn to trust your instincts. Not all people are arseholes."

"What about your friend, Erica?"

"Yeah, well she comes from a loving family..." Franky hoped - yet another point she needed to ask Erica later. "And wasn't subjected to the same shitty hand we've been dealt. But she's a good person who will always be there for people like us."

Corey contemplated what Franky had just told him. "Did your father love you?"

"I think so."

"Then why did he leave?"

Franky leant back against the wall and sighed heavily. "Reckon he was scared. More scared than l was at the time."

"But you don't just leave a kid like that. What could you have done to deserve to be abandoned?" 

"Nothing. That's what hurts the most. I've come to realise that I can't keep punishing everyone or myself because of the selfish actions of a select few, but thanks to people like Erica, I'm learning that it's okay to trust again." 

"I hope he spends the rest of his life rotting in Hell alongside my old man."

"I can't speak for your father, but I believe Alan has to live with the guilt every day until he dies."

"My mum died four years' ago and my father remarried within a year. His new wife has two kids of her own and didn't want me in the picture as I was a reminder of my dad's previous life, so she gave him an ultimatum. My father chose her over me! How is that fair?"

Corey cried again, and Franky placed a hand on his shoulder, hoping it would comfort him. "I dunno, kid, but it's not fair. You deserve better. We all do."

They sat in silence for several minutes before Corey gathered the courage to speak. "I guess you want to know what happened, huh?" 

"Only if you want to tell me." 

"On the night your friend was murdered, there was a couple of people out the front entrance to this building..."

Franky searched her memory. It was vaguely familiar and then it came to her. "You mean the two drug dealers? I remember Brian mentioning them to me before I left for the evening."

"Drug dealers? Shit no. Maybe they were pretending to be doing a deal, but I was in the dumpster at the time seeking protection from the cold. I heard people talking, so I peered over the rim and saw a short guy say to the other guy that... Brian? Is that your friend's name? Anyway, the short dude pointed and said, 'That's him. Make sure it can't be traced back to any of us.'"

"Make sure it can't be traced back to any of us." Franky repeated to herself. "Are you sure that's what he said?" 

Corey nodded. "Positive." 

"So Brian's fate was sealed at that point. Do you remember what the other guy looked like?"

"Yeah, he was bald and had this freakish looking scar which started above his left eye, across his nose and finished just to the right side of his mouth. Four big scratch marks. It looked like he'd been attacked by Wolverine, y'know? Anyway, after Brian went inside, the short guy left, but the scar face dude lingered around like he was casing the joint." 

"I didn't see him when I left for work around 9.30pm." 

"He was still there, but was hiding near the dumpster and left straight after you did." 

"Scarface would have seen me leave and therefore would have known Brian was alone in my apartment. But why did he wait until morning to kill him?" Franky said more to herself than to Corey. "I wonder if he trailed me to see where I was going? Once I got to work, he would have realised he had all night to kill Brian. Did you happen to witness either of these men coming back?" 

"Yeah, Scarface came back in the morning. Not sure what time though because I don't own a watch." 

"I called Brian at 8am the following morning and he was still alive then. When I arrived home around 10am, Brian was dead, so our Scarface friend had a very small window of opportunity to kill him." 

"I didn't see him leave, but that's because I jumped out of the dumpster and got out of there real fast in case I got caught. I swear that's all I know, Franky. Sorry I can't be of more help." 

"Are you kidding? Corey, you are marvellous. I can't thank you enough. Is there anything I can do for you? Maybe Erica can organise some accommodation?" 

Corey laughed. "No, I feel safer here. Besides, the authorities will force me into foster care or live with my dad, and I never want to see him again."

"It's tough out there. Will you be okay?" 

"I'm not scared of anything." 

"Yeah, I believe you. Sit tight for a minute." Franky went to the bedroom to speak with Erica privately before returning a short time later. 

"Hold out your hand." She removed the watch from her own wrist and latched it onto his. 

Corey admired the digital watch face. "Woah! For keeps?" 

"Yep." She then handed him her mobile number on a piece of scrap paper along with two hundred dollars Erica had just given her. "There's some good woollen jumpers and jeans in my wardrobe which will be big on you but at least they'll keep you warm. Whatever is left in this apartment is yours now, but should you ever change your mind about wanting my help, please call me."

**** **** ****

"That was amazing! We did it Franky! We did it!" Erica was pumping her fist in the air like she had just won an Olympic medal, buzzing from the adrenalin rush which was driving through her. 

Franky chewed her bottom lip and tried to remain silent as they walked back to the car in the light rain; her annoyance at Erica's erratic behaviour and total lack of disregard for her own safety finally getting the better of her. 

"You're seriously getting off on this, aren't you?"

"No. Well, maybe just a bit. But you have to admit, it was... _exhilarating!"_

Franky shot Erica a look of exasperation and decided the best course of action was to ignore that last comment for fear of aggravating the situation further.

"You're mad at me, aren't you?"

"Nup." Franky quickened her pace.

Erica stepped in front of Franky to prevent her from walking any further. "Yes you are. Please, talk to me."

"Fine, then. That was bloody stupid what you did back at the apartment. I said no superhero antics, so what do you do? You take up wrestling instead! You could have been seriously hurt!"

"It was a kid, Franky. And I'm okay, just tender in the lower back."

"Yeah, but you didn't know that at the time. What if he had a knife? Or a gun? I don't think I could..." She frowned and shoved Erica aside, leaving her to ponder what had just happened.

"You're afraid something will happen to me, aren't you?" Erica shouted after her. "Damn it, don't walk away from me!"

Franky stopped and waited for Erica to catch up to her.

"Stop treating me like I'm a porcelain doll! I'm not fragile, nor do I break easily. I've been looking after myself for years before you entered my life!"

"I don't need your death on my conscience, too!" Franky retorted in a trembling voice. "First the Wentworth riot, then Brian..."

"Wentworth? As in the riot where Meg Jackson died? Is that what you think is going to happen? That I could die? Nothing's going to happen to me."

"Have a crystal ball, do you? This is my mess, and I dragged you into it. What if I'm not around to protect you? Or if we get caught? We'll both end up in Wentworth, only you'll be on the wrong side of the bars this time, with the inmates and the screws out to get you. Do you have any idea what they do to ex governors in prison? They get ganged in the showers. Bridget told me that's what happened to Ferguson, and she's tough as nails. Do you want that to happen to you?"

"Of course not." 

"Then you need to start listening to me, because we're not playing a fucking game!" 

"Don't you think I haven't thought about the possible repercussions? Yes, I'm scared, but I wouldn't be doing this if I thought you were guilty. You need to trust me more, because right now, I'm all that stands between you and Wentworth. We'll get through this together, but we need to work as a team, okay?"

Erica was right, but right now it only served to enhance Franky's annoyance of the situation at hand. "Jesus, you are so infuriating! You should come with a fucking set of instructions!" 

"No point, you wouldn't bother reading it, anyway!" 

This was an argument which neither party was going to win, but Franky no longer cared as she pushed Erica hard up against a corrugated iron fence in the laneway and shoved her knee in between Erica's legs, kissing her aggressively on the mouth. Erica flinched from the jolt of pain in her back, but was soon distracted when Franky unzipped her coat and placed a hand on her breast, squeezing the nipple through the shirt until it became firm. Erica responded with a loud moan, wrapping both arms around Franky's waist and attempting to lift her shirt, as Franky moved her hand downwards, fumbling with the buttoned studs on Erica's jeans.

Mentally scolding herself for losing control, Franky broke from the kiss and pulled both hands away, leaving both herself and Erica gasping for air.

"Why did you stop? I thought this is what we both wanted."

"I do, but not here and not like this." Franky then took Erica's hand in her own. "Besides, this area isn't safe at night and we need to get out of here before somebody sees us."

**** **** ****

They arrived back at Erica's apartment a half hour later, cold and wet. Franky helped Erica out of her coat, taking care not to cause her any pain.

"I'm sorry, Erica, I had no right to go off at you like that, but in the darkness of my apartment, I was scared something had happened to you." 

"You really do care, don't you?" 

"About you? Always. Does that surprise you?" 

"Yes, because usually when people do something for me, they nearly always want something in return." 

"The old Franky would have been like that, but I'm not that person, anymore." 

"No, you're not. The truth is you stir up emotions in me that I've never experienced, and I need to get used to considering your feelings, too. So I'm sorry to have scared you, and I should have listened to you." 

"You're forgiven. And for future reference, I'll try not to overreact."

"I have a confession to make. I eavesdropped on your conversation with Corey and was impressed with how you handled yourself. You have a knack with these kids."

"Yeah, well I get where they're coming from firsthand. It's not easy knowing you're unloved and a burden upon your parents."

"Is that what you think you were?" 

Franky shrugged. "I used to think so, but I'm not sure about anything, anymore – except how I feel about you." 

Erica smiled. "I also realised I barely know anything about you. Tell me about yourself." 

"Surely you would have examined my files at Wentworth?" 

"Of course I did, but files have a habit of being incomplete and leaving out vital pieces of information. Besides, I prefer to hear your side of the story." 

"Let's see..." Franky held up her left hand and counted down on each finger. "Mother was an abusive and drug-fucked alcoholic; father was a coward who ran away to save his own hide; mother beat the living shit out of her kid until Social Services intervened and decided that foster homes were a better option; troubled kid grew up and became a troubled adult who went on a reality show and ended up assaulting the host after he continuously goaded and bullied her; troubled adult was sentenced to jail. The end. Was all that in my prison file?" 

"Pretty much." 

"Then for once, they got it right." 

"Okay, then tell me one thing I don't know about you. Just one thing. Something which wouldn't be in any files." 

"Only one thing?" 

"We'll work on the rest later." 

"Seems fair. Did you know I have a kid sister?" 

"I thought you were an only child?" 

"I thought so too, until about a year ago when Alan contacted me. Her name is Tess, she's four years' old and is absolutely adorable." 

"That's wonderful news! It must have felt strange meeting her for the first time." 

"Honestly? I was slightly jealous at first. My father abandoned me, yet he's the one who received a second chance. Where's my second chance? I didn't do anything wrong, did I? But then Tess walked up to me in the park and placed her tiny hand in my own, looked up at me, and smiled. My heart just melted, along with any resentment I felt. I finally have the little sister I've always wanted, and you know what? Alan better not fuck it up this time around." 

"Does this mean you've accepted your father back into your life?" 

"To an extent, yes. However, I refuse to discuss the past with Alan. There's nothing he can say or do which could make up for my lost childhood, and I told him if he so much as brought up the subject, then I'd walk away and he'd never see me again." 

"You'd be walking away from Tess, too." 

"Jeez, have you been taking lessons from Bridget behind my back? Seriously though, that's the only reason I put up with him – for Tess' sake."

"You're an amazing person, Franky Doyle."

"Likewise, but remind me never to piss you off though, especially if you're wielding a baseball bat!"

They both laughed and Franky stole a quick kiss from Erica, placing a hand on her lower back. Erica winced and pulled away.

"Back still sore, huh?"

"I took a couple of aspirin in the car. Hopefully, it will kick in soon." 

"No doubt I aggravated it in the laneway." 

"It was worth it."

"You know... nine out of ten people surveyed, unanimously agreed that l give the best back massages."

"Oh, really? What about the tenth person?"

"Well, I'm hoping she'll take me up on my offer and make it a perfect score."

"Are you offering?"

"Only if you play your cards right," Franky replied, with a mischievous grin.

Erica led Franky to the en suite which was attached to the master bedroom and opened the medicine cabinet to reveal an assortment of oils and liniments. 

"Pick the oils you think would be best." 

Franky was left alone and quickly stripped off her wet clothes and wrapped herself in Erica's bathrobe. When she stepped out into the bedroom, Erica was lying face down on the bed, naked from the waist up, with a red towel wrapped around her hips. Franky kneeled on the bed and carefully dribbled a thin line of oil down Erica's spine, taking note of her muscles which twitched at the contact to the cold liquid. 

"My, you're so tense. Let me know if I hurt you, ok?" A muffled acknowledgement from Erica, and Franky pressed the palm of her hand between the shoulder blades, gradually working her way down to the hips. She then moved her fingertips in a circular motion, massaging more oil into the skin. Erica emitted a groan of appreciation when Franky gently kneaded the very spot which was troubling her earlier.

"Mmmm, that feels so good!" 

"If you think that's good, wait until you've experienced this..."

Franky licked a straight line with her tongue from Erica's tail bone all the way up to the nape of her neck, sending a shiver down her spine. She then planted several soft kisses around Erica's neck and shoulders.

"You're right, this is much better." Erica mumbled. "You know... I read an article recently which stated that nine out of ten back massages leads to sex."

"Are you offering?"

"Only if you play your cards right." Erica eased herself up onto her haunches, with her back facing Franky. 

Franky took this as her cue and undid the tie on her robe to expose her own nudity, kneeling with her legs spread wide on either side of Erica's body, and pressing her breasts into Erica's back. Placing more oil in the palms of both hands, she reached around from behind and massaged the oil into Erica's soft breasts. Erica moaned deeply and threw her head back, exposing her neck. 

Franky lavished Erica's neck with more kisses and bit her gently on the shoulder, bringing another moan of pleasure from Erica's lips. She then rubbed Erica's sex through the towel - the rough texture of the material only enhancing the pleasurable experience for her, sending mini spasms throughout her body.

Erica broke free of Franky's hold and laid on her back. For the first time, Franky saw her perfectly unblemished skin along with her round perky breasts, as they rose and fell with each breath; her pink nipples fully erect, begging for some TLC. She leant over Erica and took a nipple between her teeth, sucking upon it, as she undid the towel around Erica's hips, revealing her pussy in all its uncensored glory. 

Franky licked her lips. "You've obviously mowed the lawn recently. Were you expecting visitors?" 

Erica laughed at the crude metaphor. "Just one."

"I'm hoping I'm that one." 

Erica pushed herself and Franky back up into a kneeling position, and gradually peeled the robe off Franky's shoulders, taking a moment to marvel at the perfection of Franky's firm breasts and the toned contours of her light olive-skin body. She placed her hand upon Franky's left breast, squeezing it gently, mesmerised by the whole new experience, before leaning in awkwardly and swirling her tongue around the nipple. 

Franky closed her eyes tightly as she felt like an electrical surge had powered right through her body. How she fantasised this moment for many years!

Erica regained her composure and pulled her hand away, smiling nervously. Franky could see Erica's confidence was wavering, and whispered in her ear, "Are sure you want to do this?" 

"That's the second time tonight you've asked me that question." 

"'Cause if you're not ready, I'll understand," Franky continued. 

If truth be told, Erica knew she had been ready since that fateful day Franky had kissed her in her office at Wentworth. She wrapped her arms around Franky's shoulders and kissed her longingly on the lips, effectively giving her answer.

Franky understood. Tonight she would play the role of the patient and giving lover. "Let me be your tutor," she said in a soft, reassuring voice. 

Taking complete control, she gently pushed Erica on to her back again, and lifted and separated her legs and positioned her thigh between them. They grinded against one another, gradually increasing the pace until it became frantic enough to bring a wave of pure bliss between the pair of them. Franky leaned up on both elbows, either side of Erica's head and caressed her fingers through Erica's damp hair, pulling on it hard; Erica gave a startled yelp and retaliated by running her fingernails down Franky's back and pinching her arse. 

Franky playfully slapped her hands away. "Don't torture the teacher, or you'll be disciplined accordingly!"  

"I have a suggestion as to how you can punish me." 

"I bet you do, but I'd hardly call that punishment!" 

Franky nipped at Erica's throat as she moved one hand downwards and lightly stroked her glistening folds, flicking her thumb lightly over the clit leaving Erica highly aroused and writhing about on the bed. 

"Stop teasing me!" 

"Say magic word." 

"Fuck me... _please!_ " 

Franky left a downward trail of kisses between Erica’s breasts, over her stomach, and finally her right inner thigh. Erica automatically lifted both legs and draped them over Franky's shoulders, as Franky used the tip of her tongue to circle Erica's swollen clit, taking a moment to inhale the intoxicating scent before finally pushing a finger inside her.

"Faster, Franky! I need to feel you deeper inside me!" Erica pleaded between clench teeth, as she raised both hands above her head to grip the bedhead.

Franky took immense pleasure in seeing the burning desire in Erica's eyes and inserted another finger in, pumping faster and deeper than before, using the tip of her tongue to place the right amount of pressure on the nub. Erica's moans became louder and more prominent as she thrusted her pelvis frantically, clenching her vaginal muscles around Franky's fingers as she drew closer to her climax. 

Feeling Erica's orgasm about to erupt, Franky pulled her fingers out, and inserted her tongue inside her, flicking it around inside as deep as it could go. Erica arched her chest upwards at the new sensation, and continued to buck against Franky's mouth, until her orgasm hit her with such ecstasy, that she was positive her continuous cries of _Yes Franky! Yes!_ would have woken the neighbours downstairs – not that she cared in the slightest.

"Wow! Now that's what I call a fucking great back rub!" Erica said, panting heavily. 

Franky lay alongside her. "Told you I'm the best. You taste absolutely divine. Is that the first time anyone has gone down on you?"

"No," Erica began awkwardly. "Mark tried a few times, but always made a mess of it and the one time I got adventurous, he totally lost it and left for the night."

"Really? What did you ask him to do?"

Erica hesitated. It wasn't in her nature to be so open and talk about her sexual needs and desires. "I spanked him on the arse and demanded he pull my hair. Said I didn't want to fuck like a married couple."

"Ha! That explains your intense reaction when I pulled your hair."

"It's not funny!" Erica laughed. "Anyway, it was all your fault!"

"Yeah? Funny, I don't remember being there." She scrunched up her face and pretended to recall the fake memory of herself in bed with Erica and Mark. "Nope. Pretty sure I'd have remembered it."

"Do the words: 'When you're fucking him, you're thinking of me,' sound familiar?"

"I knew it!" Franky scoffed. "Who would have thought you have a taste for kinky antics, Miss Davidson? I'll certainly keep that in mind." She then slapped Erica hard on the arse.

"Ouch!" Erica rolled over and lightly brushed her own cheek against Franky's. "Mmm, so soft and no stubble rash. I could seriously get used to this." 

Franky rubbed her own chin. "Yeah, I shaved, but only because I'm trying to impress you." 

"It's true though. Woman are so soft to touch." 

"After all these years, you've only just worked that out?" 

"Well, no, but it's different on yourself, isn't it?" 

"Yep. One of the many advantages of dating a chick. That, and no arguments over leaving the toilet seat up." 

Erica laughed. "Does this mean we're dating now?"

"Meh. Tutoring, dating. Same-same!" 

Erica knew it was a throwback to their tutoring days in Wentworth and playfully punched Franky in the shoulder to acknowledge the cheeky reference. 

Franky flashed her trademark grin and stole another quick kiss. "Reckon it's time for the student to show her tutor what she's learnt." 

Erica was only too happy to oblige her new lover. 


	7. Truth & Consequences: Franky

Franky had laid awake in bed since early dawn, watching Erica as she slept peacefully. She found it hard to believe this exquisite creature had initially rejected nearly all her flirty remarks and propositions in Wentworth for fear of the unknown, yet here they were, together at last. Unable to resist any longer, Franky leaned over and kissed Erica lightly on the lips, awakening her from her sleep.

"Hey there, gorgeous. I can call you that now." 

Erica stretched and yawned. "How long have you been awake?" 

"About three hours." 

"Seriously? What have you been doing all that time?" 

"The usual stuff like contemplating the meaning of life and admiring the spectacular view." 

"And what did the greatest philosopher of our time, discover?" 

"That you twitch when you're dreaming. It's really cute." 

"Do I?" 

"Yep, and you also fart like a racehorse. That's not so cute!" 

"Franky! I don't fart!" 

"Everyone farts, it's just that yours are so lethal, the military should slap a radioactive sticker across your arse and drop you into enemy territory first, before sending in the troops. Think of the millions lives you could save! They could celebrate a public holiday in your honour and call it 'International Fartarse Day'!" 

Erica looked on in absolute horror until Franky couldn't keep the charade up any longer and burst out laughing. "You should see the look on your face!" 

"That's not even remotely funny…" 

"It is from my point of view. But honestly, you do have a tendency to steal the quilt." 

"I object! I'm not a quilt-hogger!" Erica laughed and threw her pillow at Franky, who caught it without any difficulty. 

"Sustained! Yes you are, Miss Davidson. I nearly froze last night!" 

Erica tried to wrestle the pillow back from her, but Franky easily overpowered her and flipped her on her back, laying on top on her. 

"Maybe I should have done this last night, at least I would have been warm." 

Erica's mobile phone buzzed. 

"Leave it," Franky ordered. 

"It could be important," Erica said, as she reached over to check. "Damn, it's from work. There's a problem with one of the cases and they need me in ASAP." 

"But it's a Saturday," Franky protested. 

"I know, baby, and I'm sorry. I promise I'll make it up to you." Erica leaped out of bed and kissed Franky before rushing off for a shower.  

"I'm going to hold you to that," Franky shouted after her, as she rolled over on the empty bed, feeling a bit abandoned - not to mention horny - when it occurred to her that with all the commotion of yesterday's events, she had completely forgotten Bridget arrived back in the country late last night to the news of Brian's murder.  

Franky reached for her mobile and called Bridget.  

**** **** **** 

Half an hour after Erica left, Franky opened the front door to find Bridget looking jet-lagged and sleep deprived. She immediately threw her arms around the diminutive woman and enveloped her in one of her trademark bear hugs. 

"You have no idea how much I've missed you." 

"I'm so sorry for not being here for you," Bridget mumbled into her shoulder. 

"Never mind about me, you look like you could use a strong coffee." 

Bridget followed Franky into the kitchen. "Is it that obvious?" 

"Let's just say it's good to see your time in London wasn't wasted. Did you take any photos as per my request?" 

Bridget managed a weak laugh. "Nothing which could be used against me. How are you holding up?" 

"Stuck in this place going batshit crazy with boredom. Well, not entirely…" Franky smiled to herself at the thought of the previous night. 

"I should never have left for London. When I saw you at the pub, I knew you weren't yourself." 

"We both know it wouldn't have affected the outcome. Brian would still be dead, and l would be wanted for his murder." 

"Except I would have been here for you." 

"I know, and I appreciate the sentiment." 

"I was surprised when you told me over the phone that you're now living with Erica." 

"She's been so supportive and truly believes I didn't kill Brian." 

"Erica's shown an incredible amount of faith in you. She must be very special to you to have done what she did." 

Franky knew Bridget was fishing, but she felt obliged to tell her the truth. "I love her, Gidge. The circumstances of our reunion could have been less dramatic, but after all these years I've finally found her again and I feel like I've been given a second chance, despite me not being worthy of her." 

Even though they were no longer together, it was still painful for Bridget to hear and she tried to keep any emotions out of her voice when she spoke. "My, you have been busy during my absence." 

Franky raised her hand to Bridget's cheek, stroking it gently. "I didn't know any of this was going to happen. I'm so sorry." 

"Brian's death is not your fault." 

"You know that's not what I meant. Will you be okay?" 

"Thanks for your concern, but I'm a big girl. You're with Erica now and I couldn't be happier for you." Bridget purposely took a step back out of Franky's reach and held out her cup. "Refill required, _pronto_. So why do you feel you're not worthy of her?" 

Franky eyed Bridget with concern for a few seconds more before topping up her coffee. "I'm afraid I'll say or do something stupid to fuck it all up." 

"Complete nonsense. You're not a bad person, Franky. Have you told Erica about your past history?" 

"If you're referring to my time in Wentworth, not entirely. I've no doubt mentioning various aspects would classify as saying something stupid." 

"Granted, it's a tricky situation, but if you want Erica to remain in your life, then you can't keep it a secret forever. She deserves to know the truth." 

"I know, but what if she bails?" 

"Ultimately, it's her decision to make, not yours." 

"Maybe I should keep my mouth shut." 

"Now that's something only you can decide, but should you choose not to tell her and she finds out, she'll feel betrayed and may even hand you over to the police." 

Franky shook her head. "Nup, Erica would never do that. Not after all she's done for me. Okay, let's say I do tell her, what kind of reaction can I expect?" 

"Good question. It's not often you discover your partner accidentally killed someone, but tread carefully. You'll be asking an awful lot of Erica, especially given she's risked her own freedom to protect you. If you choose to tell her, it's because you believe there's a future for the both of you." 

"There won't be a future for us if I'm unable to prove my innocence." 

"Speaking of which, tell me everything you know about Brian's murder." 

Franky filled Bridget in on what she and Erica had discovered so far. "Erica thinks there may come a time when we'll need your assistance." 

"You know you can rely on me, but in the meantime, please be careful. I have a friend who's a coroner and owes me a favour or two, so I'll ask him to make some discreet enquiries about any males who have required major facial surgery." 

"Is that wise?" 

"Don't worry, I won't tell Daniel about you, nor will I reveal any more details than necessary, but with the scars you've described, this bald fellow's bound to have sought medical attention at some point." 

Franky smiled and nodded in agreement. "I owe you big time, Gidge." 

Bridget placed the cup in the sink. "A nice bottle of red wine will suffice. I'd better get going as I have a mountain of paperwork at Wentworth to sift through, but please, stay in contact." 

**** **** **** 

Erica arrived home several hours later. "I've been thinking of you all day and what I can do to make up for leaving you this morning…" She wrapped her arms around Franky's shoulders and kissed her. "I have to say, I've come up with some interesting possibilities." 

Franky looked distracted and not her usual flirty self. "Yeah, me too." 

Erica put it down to Bridget's visit. "How's Bridget?" She tried to sound as indifferent as possible. 

"Pretty good." Franky immediately perked up and gave her the good news about Bridget willing to help them and her offer to check medical records. "It was so good to see her again. I really missed her and I feel that much better knowing she's back." 

Erica felt another pang of jealousy. So what if Franky had a relationship with this other woman? It was all in the past and Franky was with her now. 

"Well, it's good to know we have someone else on our side." 

"Yeah. Look, I need to talk to you." 

"Uh oh, that sounds serious," Erica said in a mocking tone as she playfully kissed Franky's throat. 

"It is serious." Franky removed Erica's arms from around her shoulders. "And we need to talk, _now_." Franky lead her over to the lounge suite. 

"What's the matter? You seem tense." 

"Last night you said we should talk about my time in Wentworth…" Franky got up and anxiously paced the room, not daring to look at Erica. 

"You're starting to scare me. Sit down and tell me what's wrong." 

Franky sat down again. "I was involved in some serious shit at Wentworth which I'm not proud to admit. I'm taking a huge gamble here, but you need to know the truth because I can't keep any secrets from you if we're to have any chance of making this relationship work. I'm also telling you this because I love you, and I need you to know upfront that I'm very sorry for everything I've ever done." 

"We've all done things we've regretted. Whatever you did, I'm sure you had to do to survive inside Wentworth. It's who you are now, that counts." 

"Yeah, well do me a favour and keep that in mind." Franky hesitated. "I was the main point of contact for drugs inside Wentworth. The inmates came to me because they knew I could get any shit they wanted, but I never used, just dealt." 

"This is hardly news to me. I had heard the rumours from both officers and prisoners and your record wasn't exemplary." 

"Did you know it was my fault Bea couldn't go to her daughter's funeral?" 

"No, Bea was considered a high risk after numerous incidents. I allowed her to attend only to have Channing over-ride my decision." 

"But if Bea hadn't been caught smuggling drugs after meeting with her first visitor, then she would have been allowed to attend, right?" 

"Possibly, but Franky, it wasn't just the drugs. Bea was classified as a Double A rating. She was still on remand at the time and was therefore considered a high risk." 

"What if I told you that I blackmailed Red into accepting a visit from one of my contacts so he could give her a balloon filled with crystal meth? I told her if she didn't comply, I would prevent her from ever phoning her daughter again." 

"Why would you do something like that?" 

"Because all I cared about was getting my hands on more gear so I could make money off the other inmates and enhance my reputation as top dog within the prison. Red was a newbie to the system, I saw an opportunity, so I took advantage of her." 

"You do realise that because she was caught trafficking drugs into the prison, she was automatically excluded from the right to appeal against not being allowed to go to Debbie's funeral?" 

Franky winced at the memory of Bea's heartbreak. "Yeah, it's not one of my proudest moments." 

"Oh, Franky, I'm amazed Bea didn't skin you alive." 

"That's because she was more focused on her revenge towards the Holts. That said, I copped a hiding from Red in the battle for top dog and was used as a pawn to distract the screws whilst she made her escape." 

"Wow, I don't know what to say…" 

"That's not all. A few months after you'd left, there was a young Korean girl called Su-Yun who was admitted and couldn't speak a word of English. Do you remember Kim Chang? She acted as my interpreter and I learned through Kim that the girl had swallowed two balloons of heroin which had gone undetected by the authorities. Liz Birdsworth wanted to take her to Medical, but I refused, saying I was protecting her from getting a longer sentence, but that wasn't the real reason. I wanted those drugs to make up for a stash that I'd lost earlier to Ferguson, and my reputation was on the line if I couldn't get my hands on any gear. It all horribly backfired when the balloons perforated and killed her." 

"Jesus, Franky," Erica whispered. 

Franky continued. "Liz gave me hell about it and accused me of treating this kid like a piece of meat. Sure, I felt bad about it, but I was more concerned about Liz's correct assumption that I was way out of my depth being top dog, and had crossed a line." 

Erica sat in complete silence, not knowing what to say. 

"Karma's a bitch, 'cause about a year later, Kim planted five balloons of heroin in my cell the day before my parole hearing." 

"Wait, Kim Chang intentionally tried to stop you getting parole?" 

"She was seriously pissed with me for ditching her for Bridget. Anyway, there was a cell toss, and I tried to flush the balloons down the toilet, but two still remained. After refusing a cavity search, I was slotted, but managed to swallow the balloons without being seen. When I got back to my cell, I begged Boomer to make one of her concoctions to help rid me of the balloons. Dear old Boomer, who took the rap for a previous drugs bust that I was responsible for, and had seven years added to her sentence." 

"Poor Sue, she always did worship the ground you walked on, and that often led to her getting into trouble." 

"Yeah, she's my family, and I treated her like shit, yet she still helped me out despite not talking to me at the time. Anyway, Booms' magic juice did the trick, but not before feeling the effects during my parole hearing. I really thought the balloons were going to rupture, and by some miracle they didn't. I had a very close call with the Grim Reaper that day, but it was the scare I needed to wake up and understand that my own actions can have serious consequences on other people's lives. I never really got it until then, refusing to let it affect me. All those inmates who never had a chance to clean themselves up because I fed their habit. If Su-Yun had got medical attention, she would still be alive today." 

Erica was truly dumbfounded. "That's an awful lot of guilt to cart around." 

"I brought it all upon myself, and I can't imagine you'd be too proud of me anymore." 

"It sounds like you've learnt a tough lesson in empathy. Anyway, I too, have made bad decisions." 

"Like what?" 

"The way I treated you. Derek Channing sent you to the Slot for five hard weeks for a crime you didn't commit. I should have said something but I didn't because my position as Governor would have been questioned."

"You were trying to protect your job and anyway, I remember you telling Channing to stop laying into me." 

"But I knew you didn't supply the drugs to Toni Goodes because the education teacher, Steven Phelps, confided to me he was her supplier. I told him to leave immediately as I was literally only moments away from being handed the position of Governor and it wouldn't have looked good for me given I was the one responsible for getting him the job in the first place. Later, I tried to cover by blackmailing Toni into saying she couldn't remember, or she would lose access to her child. Then Jacs and her heavies must have convinced her to change her story, so she lied to Channing by naming you instead." 

"I'll bet she did. Jacs was a nasty, sadistic bitch who enjoyed getting people to do the dirty work for her, like that time she bullied Bea into slamming the hot press down on my hand." 

"I tried to change Toni's mind, but I suppose she considered me a lesser threat." 

"If you had asked me, I would have gone to the Slot for you, Erica. If it saved your job, l would have gladly lied. Anyway, maybe it really is karma, given all the drugs I've sold to inmates over the years." 

"I know how much you hated the Slot, and felt guilty for sending you there." 

"I can't lie, being locked up in a small box with nothing but my own mind to keep me company wasn't fun. My time in the Slot would have been easier had you visited me." 

"I couldn't visit because I was scared you would see through me and I didn't want you to see how vulnerable you made me feel. Instead, I watched you constantly on the monitors, and I felt your pain when you punched the door with your bare fist." 

"I did that because I was so torn at seeing that engagement ring." 

"I know and I'm sorry. I wore that ring for all the wrong reasons and I hurt so many people in doing so." 

"I hated that ring." 

"Me too. I'm so sorry you took the blame for something which wasn't your fault." 

Franky smiled. "As you've already mentioned, we've all done things we've regretted. What matters now is that I know you care enough about me by letting me back into your life that night when I appeared at your front door." 

"I have no regrets about the night, Franky. It was the best decision I've ever made." 

"Listen, there's something else you need to know, and it affects you given you were at Wentworth during the riot." 

"Does this have anything to do with what you said last night on the way home?" 

"Yes, and you're not going to like it." 

"Then I'm not sure I want to hear this." 

"No, you don't." Franky swallowed hard. She knew this could have dire consequences. "But you need to hear it - Meg Jackson is dead because of me. It was an accident, but I killed her." 

"That's impossible. You weren't in my office when the police came to question and charge Jacs. You couldn't have killed Meg because her bracelet was found in Jacs' cell and was the vital piece of evidence needed to prove her guilt." 

"Liz planted the bracelet in Jacs' cell." 

"Why would she do such a thing?" 

"I was playing Jacs and Bea off one another, in the hope that they would cancel one another out, thereby leaving me to be top dog, unopposed. Liz cottoned on to what I was doing and admitted to me she was the one who planted the bracelet in Jacs' cell – to end her cruel reign over the women and therefore pave the way for Bea to become top dog instead of me." 

"But that doesn't make any sense, Franky! How did Liz end up with the bracelet in the first place?" 

"Unknown to me at the time, Liz witnessed Mrs Jackson's stabbing. I vaguely recall wiping my fingerprints off the shiv, before fleeing and it must have been straight after that Liz removed the bracelet from Mrs Jackson, so she could use it at a later date." 

Erica was not convinced. "This is crazy! Okay, so humour me. Obviously there was a shiv involved, but how exactly did you kill her?" 

"Like I said earlier, it was an accident. Please believe me when I say that I never meant to kill her. During the riot I was in the corridor and saw a shiv lying on the ground, so I picked it up with the intention to protect myself from Jacs and her crew, who were out to cause me serious injury. Unfortunately, Mrs Jackson approached me from behind and I spun around not knowing it was her until the shiv was plunged in her chest. She died in my arms, Erica." 

"You expect me to believe all of this?" 

"Ask Will Jackson. He knows the truth." Franky looked down at the floor, unable to look at Erica anymore. 

"If that were the case, you'd still in prison but doing time for manslaughter - assuming they couldn't pin you for murder." 

"When Mr Jackson discovered I was the real culprit, he bailed me up against a wall and I could see in his eyes that he wanted to kill me. I told him to just do it, but at that precise moment, it was like an internal switch within was flicked off, and so did his desire to kill me. He could have told the authorities and had me charged, but chose instead to remain silent." 

"This is complete bullshit! Why are you saying all of this?" 

"Because I love you, but you need to know the truth about me." 

"Look at me, Franky. _LOOK AT ME!"_  

Franky slowly lifted her head and Erica knew by looking into those green eyes that she was not lying. Erica could barely breathe as a crushing sensation enveloped her entire being, and she felt like she had a shiv plunged deep into her chest, only unlike Meg, she was still alive. 

"It's true, then." Erica broke down and cried. "So you choose to tell me this after you seek me out, gain my trust, and get me into bed? Or perhaps you thought all along that I was a better alternative than going back to Wentworth? Tell me, was it all worth it? _Was I worth it_?" 

"It's not like that at all! I wasn't sure how you'd react, and therefore I was afraid of telling you for fear of losing you again." 

"By not confiding in me earlier, you've purposely deceived me by conveniently keeping the truth of Meg's death a secret until it suited you." 

"No! I told you the truth because I don't want to lie to you. I should have told you earlier, but I didn't know how to go about it." 

"Was it so important to you to be top dog? To intentionally let another person take the blame for murder, just so you could save your own skin, and take over the role permanently?" 

"You don't understand. Power means everything on the inside, and sometimes you have to do sickening tasks or risk death or injury, just to maintain your position within the prison hierarchy." 

"You're right I don't understand. Power only means everything to someone who desperately wants it. Fuck the consequences and fuck everyone else because we both now know that the great Franky Doyle will do whatever it takes to be number one!" Erica grabbed her handbag and car keys and headed towards the front door. 

"Wait!" Franky rushed over and placed her hand on Erica's arm, hoping she could somehow convince her to stay, but instead Erica slapped her hand away.

"Don't touch me!" 

"I'm sorry, Erica!" Franky cried out between tears. "Please, _please_ don't leave me." 

"I can't deal with this shit right now!" Erica cried over her shoulder, as she slammed the door behind her.


	8. Psych in Shining Armour

Bridget Westfall was relaxing on a bench at Half Moon Bay, enjoying the view of the ocean. The shoreline was deserted, except for a dedicated jogger with her loyal dog running alongside, and two fishermen standing on a nearby pier. Bridget closed her eyes, soaking in the warmth, when a shadow crossed over and blocked out the sun’s rays. Erica was standing before her, dressed in ripped faded jeans, a red V-neck jumper and dark grey hooded coat. She removed her sunglasses to reveal evidence of puffiness under her eyes from crying; not bothering to disguise it with any makeup. Despite this, Bridget remembered her from that one time when she had met Erica in her office at Wentworth, and she could see why Franky had found her attractive. 

“Erica, thank you for coming.” 

“Hello, Bridget. When I received your message I contemplated not coming, but curiosity got the better of me.” 

“Fair enough, I would have felt the same way.” 

“I assume Franky called you?” 

“Yes, she did.” 

“I don’t know what you could say that would help ease what has happened in the last few hours.” 

“You’d be surprised. Please, sit down,” she invited with a warm smile. 

“Isn’t it cold out today to be sitting at the beach?” Erica knew she was stating the obvious, but was just making small talk. 

“The cold doesn’t bother me, besides, I often seek solitude here from my hectic work schedule to reflect upon my own thoughts. I like to think of this place as my little piece of tranquillity in a bustling city where anything can happen.” 

Erica felt uncomfortable being in the presence of Franky’s ex-lover, who was also a psychologist. She scanned her surroundings and focused upon the steel skeletal remains of the old decommissioned warship, ‘HMVS Cerberus’, seen offshore in the distance, virtually concealed amongst the choppy waves which crashed down upon its rusted and long abandoned decks. 

Bridget could sense Erica’s awkwardness and proceeded with caution. “Franky told me you now know the truth about Meg Jackson’s murder.” 

Erica was astounded by the revelation. “You know about that?” 

“Yes, I…” 

“And you’re fine with it? Obviously you’re fine with it!” Erica didn’t allow Bridget to answer the question. “Or you would have reported her and she would still be locked up, but for murder!” 

“Don’t kid yourself. I had to deal with a lot of internal conflict. Franky told me this morning how her drug activities lead to the death of a fellow inmate. I wasn’t aware this happened, and I should imagine that, along with Meg’s death plus Franky being accused of Brian’s murder, would be a lot for you to accept in one sitting. I’m not surprised you needed time out.” 

“May I ask why you covered for Franky?” 

“I didn’t think it was fair for Franky to spend the next 15 - 20 years for an accident beyond her control. Granted, Jacs would have been exonerated, but it wouldn’t have changed her fate. And what of the pain and suffering Will Jackson would have to endure once again, knowing he’d have to face the killer of his wife every day? He deserves closure too, and with Franky out, maybe he can move on. It doesn’t make it right, but still…” 

Erica pondered for a moment. “To think… Franky got away with murder and was released from prison. Now, it looks like she’ll be heading back for a murder she didn’t commit. I’m not sure if that’s irony, or if it’s karma coming back to bite her on the backside.” 

“Perhaps it’s both,” Bridget offered. “But the real question here is can you live with Franky knowing she has killed someone? Because remember, if you accept Franky, you accept her warts and all. If you can’t handle that, then you’d best walk away.” 

Erica bit her lip and forced herself to stare out into the horizon once more, tears threatening to spill at any moment. 

“Have you ever done anything to be ashamed of, Erica?” 

Erica recalled her time at Wentworth and how she’d used her contacts in the media along with manipulating both staff and prisoners to secure the position of governor. Several people - including Franky - had suffered due to her hunger to succeed. It was her ultimate undoing too as she learnt the hard way that there was a bigger bully in the yard waiting to destroy her. 

“Yes, but it’s not in the same league as killing someone, is it?” 

“I should imagine not, but it’s a burden Franky must carry for the rest of her life. So do I, too.” 

“And I, depending on my acceptance of the situation.” 

“Do you believe Franky killed Brian Stapylton?” 

“Absolutely not.” 

“How do you know? You weren’t there.” 

“Because Franky would never do anything that callous and cold-hearted.” 

“And Meg Jackson? You know she killed her, she admitted it to you. Do you think what she did was callous and cold-hearted?” 

Erica’s mind was racing. “No. It was an accident and I believe her. Franky has never lied to me.” 

“Yet you accused her of lying.” 

“I was angry and hurt…” 

Bridget could see Erica was close to working it out, but she needed a final push. “She must trust you to confide her deepest, darkest secret.” 

“She told you,” Erica countered. 

“True, but it was during a gruelling session at Wentworth, and I was pushing her hard. She snapped under duress and divulged the truth.”

“That must have been a shock to you.” 

“Now there’s an understatement! It wasn’t what I was expecting to hear and I often wonder if she would have told me otherwise.” 

“It sounds like you handled it better than I did. With me, I think it was yet another thing to be afraid of, and therefore needed to escape to clear my head.” 

“Let’s say I have a lot more experience in dealing with other people’s problems. So what are your fears? Other than Franky’s situation?” 

“Not fitting in, my own sexual preferences, expectations of other people and what they would think should they learn the truth about me.” 

“Many people have come undone by caring too much about what other people think of them.” 

“Yes, but it’s difficult when there’s expectations placed upon you to begin with. For example, I never felt right being with my husband, Mark. I held serious doubts from the day we first met that we weren’t meant to be together, but surely I was just being stupid? Mark was kind, loving and giving, and according to my parents, he was perfect for me – what more could I want? I had everything, yet I felt so lonely and dead.” 

“Why did you persevere when you knew the relationship was doomed?” 

“I convinced myself I could grow to love him and that any feelings I had for women would fade over time.” 

“But it didn’t.” 

“No, it festered. After I separated from Mark, I dated a couple of guys just to see if it was because I had been stuck in a stale relationship for so long. But again, I held no interest in men. I did gather the courage to venture into a girls bar once.” 

“How did that turn out?” 

“A lady offered to buy me a drink. She was lovely and wasn’t in the least bit intimidating, but I made up a lame excuse and got the hell out of there fast!” Erica laughed. “Then I realised… what if there’s more to it than that? What if I’m no good with relationships? I don’t want to hurt Franky, like I did with Mark. She deserves better than being lumbered with my insecurities.” 

“It sounds like you need to let go of all your fears. I once told Bea Smith to fuck the labels, and I am advising you to do the same, or you’ll spend the rest of your life being miserable and missing out on what you desire most. It’s not an easy road, and you may lose friends and family members, but ask yourself this: what do you want more than anything else?” 

“I want Franky.” 

“Do you love her?” 

“Yes, I’m at my happiest when I’m around her. She makes me feel so alive and free, and I would do anything for her.” 

“You already have, and that doesn’t sound like someone with a phobia towards commitment. Have you told her you love her?” 

Erica grimaced. “No, I haven’t.” 

“Why not? From what I hear, Franky adores you, and it appears you’ve now accepted who you are and what you want.” 

Erica wasn’t sure what had made her change her mind where she now felt comfortable talking openly with Bridget. Maybe it had something to do with Bridget’s calming influence, but Erica felt so relieved to convey her fears out loud without being judged. 

“I guess I need to get over that last hurdle and learn to say those three words. The thing is, I can’t imagine my life without Franky. It hurts too much not to be with her.” 

“I reckon you’ve known the answer the whole time. Take that final leap, Erica, and let yourself go. Franky will be there to catch you.” 

Erica hesitated, unsure if she should say what was now on her mind. “You’re still in love with Franky, aren’t you?” 

Bridget was taken aback given she thought she’d been careful not to reveal her true feelings. “What makes you think that?” 

“I can relate to the hurt I hear in your voice.” 

“You’re very perceptive. Yes, I still love her.” 

“Then why did you leave her?” 

“Because Franky needed to discover who she was as a person, and it soon became clear I was not part of the equation. I require a complete commitment from my partner, and as painful as it was, I knew that would never happen with Franky, so I walked away.” 

“Did she love you?” 

“I believe she did, but deep down I always knew she would one day seek you out because her heart was already lost to you.” 

“Franky told me you split up because you were both too different.” 

“That’s what I led her to think.” 

“That’s the most selfless thing I’ve ever heard.” 

Bridget sat, lost in thought for a few moments before replying. “I don’t know about selfless, but it was the hardest decision I’ve ever made.” 

“Are your feelings for Franky going to cause me any grief further down the track?” 

“What you’re asking is whether I will try to win her back, right? The answer is no. I’ll always love Franky, but I realise now that all we’ll ever be is close friends, and I’d rather that than nothing. If she’ll let me, I hope to always be a part of Franky’s life.” 

Erica nodded in agreement. “I hope she does, too.” 

“Don’t tell Franky, okay? The last thing she needs is more guilt heaped upon her plate. Just make sure she’s happy, she deserves that.” 

“Your guidance has ensured Franky had the best start to life after being released, and I don’t think I would have been able to achieve what you did.” 

“Says the same person who is harbouring an ex-con on the run for murder.” 

“Touché. Franky once referred to you as her psych in shining armour, and now I can see why. It’s time to go home and tell her I love her.” 

Bridget laughed at the compliment. She held out her hand and Erica shook it. “Take care, Erica.” 

They then parted as friends, with a newfound respect for one another. 

**** **** **** 

Franky rested on the lounge suite, snuggling up against Erica’s pillow, hoping that by inhaling her delicate floral scent, would help calm her. Unable to sleep, her eyes were bloodshot from the tears, so she switched on the TV to watch a late show in the slim hope it would distract her from her thoughts. All day long she had been mentally kicking herself for telling Erica the truth, convincing herself that she had now blown any chance of a future with the one woman she loved. 

When the front door opened, Franky jumped up immediately. There stood Erica, in the doorway. 

“Hi there.” Erica placed her handbag and keys on the entrance table. “I bought something to eat. Do you like Thai food?” 

“Yeah, absolutely!” 

Erica could have brought home road kill and Franky would have been happy. Just seeing her again, was all that mattered. Despite breaking the ice, neither woman could look at one other, much less know what to say. 

Finally, Erica broke the silence. “What are you watching?” 

“Some old show from the 1970’s or 80’s. I think it’s called ‘Prisoner’. It’s about life in a women’s prison.” 

Erica smiled at the irony. “Is it any good?” 

“Totally unrealistic. Reckon the scriptwriters need to spend time on the inside,” Franky said, with an uneasy laugh. 

Erica relaxed and laughed too, helping to ease the tension in the room. 

“I waited up for you all night,” Franky stated, before she could lose her nerve. “By morning I was convinced you were never coming back. Not that I could blame you,” she added, as she sat down again. 

“I stayed at my brother, Marty’s place last night.” She sat down next to Franky. “I’m sorry that I scared you. I said some awful stuff to you because I couldn’t cope with the truth.” 

“I deserved every word you said.” 

“No, you didn’t. I also met with Bridget Westfall this afternoon, but you would already know that.” 

“I didn’t know what else to do and you weren’t picking up your phone, so I called Bridget this morning.” 

“She’s a good person, more than you’ll ever know.” 

Franky wasn’t sure how to respond to that last comment, given she thought she knew how much Bridget had done for her already. Erica knew something she didn’t, but instead of pressing her for information, she allowed her to continue. 

“Do you regret killing Meg Jackson?” 

“Every single day. After you left, I considered handing myself in to the police.” 

“What’s the point in doing that?” 

Franky shrugged. “I got away with murder. I know it was wrong and I should be punished.” 

“It was a tragic accident which you have to live with, and that’s punishment enough.”

“Maybe, but I know my conscience won’t ever let me forget that I stole someone’s life, even if it was an accident. And I swear it was an accident.” 

“I believe you. Can you forgive me for how I treated you last night?” 

“Yes, although I should be the one asking for forgiveness. What happens now? I don’t want to lose you again.” 

“That will never happen because I love you, and we’ve come too far together, to abandon one another now. Your secret now becomes our secret.” With that, Erica kissed Franky, eliminating any doubt where her allegiances laid. 

“So, you love me, huh? To think it only took for me to pour my heart out and almost destroy our relationship.” 

Erica laughed. “I loved you before that, but needed a prod to remind me why I’m so lucky. But since I still feel guilty for the way I’ve treated you, is there anything else I need to know?” 

Franky flashed her a mischievous grin as she took both Erica’s hands in her own and tried to lift her up from the lounge suite. “Yeah, that we’re about to have the most mind-blowing makeup sex imaginable! Remember the letters I wrote you? I’m about to make the contents a reality!” 

It took all of Erica’s willpower not to succumb to Franky’s charm there and then. “Oh no, you don’t!” Erica protested as she reached over and grabbed a container out of the bag. “I’m absolutely famished! Dinner first, then you get to fuck my brain out for dessert.” 

Franky gave a hearty laugh. “Oh, I’ll be doing a lot more than that, Miss Davidson.” 

Erica nearly choked on a mouthful of fried rice before quickly resealing the container and returning it to the bag. “On second thought, I’ve changed my mind. I think we should skip dinner and go straight to the dessert…” 

**** **** **** 

Erica awoke from her deep slumber the following morning and glanced over to find Franky lying on her stomach, sound asleep and minus the quilt. The smell of sex still hung in the air, reminding her of the previous night and how Franky showed her once again the difference between a loveless fuck, and the connection of two souls becoming one. With Mark, sex had become more of a chore; an obligation as part of her duties to her husband – or at least that’s how she felt – as she remembered the time she had lied to him when he questioned her if they had a good sex life, sacrificing the truth just so she wouldn’t hurt his feelings. 

Any guilt she may have felt was quickly forgotten by the divine memory which found her leaning forward and clutching onto the bed head with both hands, and straddling Franky's face. Franky had alternated between pinching Erica’s nipples and slapping her arse hard enough to leave red, angry marks; her tongue working its magic upon Erica’s swollen clit, causing her juices to run down her inner thighs. That was something Mark had never tried, so she never knew what she was missing, but now she wondered how she had survived in such a stale and toxic relationship for so long, when the alternative was much more exciting! It was a whole new world, and Erica was like a first time explorer yearning to discover and conquer all there was on offer. 

The sound of knocking at the front door, startled her from her thoughts. Erica leaned over and lightly kissed Franky on the back of her neck before rising from the bed and wrapping herself in her dressing gown, closing the bedroom door behind her. More knocking at the door prompted Erica to quicken her pace until she unlatched the door and was confronted by a tall man and a short woman dressed in business attire. 

“Erica Davidson?” The man enquired. 

Erica cleared her throat before replying. 

“Yes.” She rubbed the sleep out of her eyes to enable her to focus upon them properly. 

“I’m Detective Senior Sergeant Lachlan McMahon, and this is Detective Leonie Cartwright. We’re from the Criminal Investigation Branch,” he said in his slight Irish twang. They both flashed their badges in perfect unison. “We’re investigating the murder of Brian Stapylton and we’d like to ask you a few questions as to the whereabouts of Francesca Doyle.”


	9. One Step Ahead

Erica took the detectives’ coats and hung them on the hooks attached to the back of the front door. “Please, sit down,” Erica offered as she rushed to gather up the rubbish from the previous night off the coffee table. “My apologies for the mess, but I had a late night.” She was dumping the rubbish in the kitchen bin when a mobile rang. 

“One of your phones is ringing,” Detective Cartwright called out of courtesy. 

 _One of my phones? Shit, Franky’s mobile must be on the coffee table, too!_ Erica hastily re-entered the lounge room, apologising again before picking up the phone and noting Bridget’s name appearing on the screen as ‘Gidge’. 

“Hello?” Erica tried to keep any trace of anxiety out of her voice. _Bridget’s timing is hardly ideal._  

_“Erica?”_

“Hi Marty! Let me guess - you’re looking for your mobile? You left it here last night, doofus.” 

 _“It’s Bridget,”_ she corrected her sternly. _“Is Franky there?”_

“Yep. Look Marty, I have visitors at the moment.” 

_“Let me guess, Detectives McMahon and Cartwright?”_

“Yes. I’ll drop off your mobile on the way to work this afternoon, if you can wait that long!”

_“Obviously you can’t talk openly, so listen. I’ve been trying to call Franky all morning. The detectives came to Wentworth first thing asking questions about her and I’ve told them she has not contacted me since my return from London. Is Franky okay?”_

“Yep, sure is. I promise I’ll put your mobile in my handbag right now so I won’t forget it. I know how precious it is to you.” She laughed. 

_“Get Franky to call me later. Oh, and Erica, don’t trust McMahon. He’s a smart, arrogant bastard and will trip you up if you’re not careful.”_

“Will do. Bye.”

“My little brother,” Erica explained as she dropped the mobile into the safety of the pocket of her dressing gown. “I often stir him in that his mobile is the one true love of his life.”

“Gidge?” McMahon asked suspiciously in his deep monotone voice, watching her closely to gauge her reaction to the question.  

Unfortunately for him, Erica had plenty of experience in courtrooms where interrogation was part of the job description. “Martin’s nickname. You do not want to know what he calls me!” She hoped this was enough to cover for the name that McMahon had obviously seen on the mobile screen earlier and made a mental note to call Marty later to inform him he was her alibi for last night and to break the news that his new nickname was now Gidge.  

“Would you mind if I change?” Erica unintentionally addressed McMahon directly. “Then I’ll answer your questions.”

“Not at all, Miss Davidson,” Cartwright interupted, as if she were reminding everyone she was still in the room.  

Erica noted the furious expression which flashed upon McMahon’s face, as she headed off to the bedroom.

Closing the door behind her, Erica then shook Franky awake. “We have a problem.” 

Franky yawned. “Hey there, gorgeous! Back for more? Get back into bed, now!”

“Keep quiet. There’s two detectives in my lounge room wanting to ask me questions about you.” 

Franky’s eyes opened wide. “What?” She panicked and sprung out of bed instantly, backing herself up into the corner, as if she were trying to put more distance between herself and the issue at hand. “What are we gonna do?” She whispered back.

“I need you to find somewhere to hide. Maybe the walk-in robe? Do not leave this room until I come back and get you.” 

“Please don’t let them take me, I’ll die if I go back to Wentworth.” 

Erica gave Franky a reassuring kiss. “I won’t let them take you.” She quickly threw on the jeans and t-shirt she’d discarded on the floor the previous night, before rejoining the detectives in the lounge room once more. 

It was only once Erica sat down in the oversized armchair opposite McMahon and Cartwright, that she could observe the two detectives in greater detail. Lachlan McMahon’s pale complexion and slightly crooked nose complimented his short black hair, cold grey eyes and long eyelashes which any woman would kill to have. With his imposing 6'5 height and broad shoulders, he reminded her of the actor, Robert Patrick, but a younger version, as he appeared to be in his mid- late thirties. There also appeared to be a natural arrogance about him, as if he were the type to give or ignore orders rather than receive them. 

Leonie Cartwright was nearly a foot shorter than McMahon and although plain in appearance, it appeared to be of her own doing. In her late twenties, her hazel eyes and light olive skin matched her long and straight mouse-coloured hair which was hastily tied back in a ponytail. With a bit of self-indulgence, she would be quite stunning, Erica decided. While McMahon radiated authority in his business suit which made him look the part of a detective, Cartwright appeared like she would be more comfortable wearing an old shirt and jeans and hanging out at the pub with mates downing a few beers, instead of the ill-fitting suit she now wore which did nothing but accentuate her slightly overweight figure. 

“What would you like to know?” Erica asked. She had immediately felt the tension between the two detectives the moment she had re-entered the room and now noticed Cartwright’s eyes were averted downwards, indicating she had been on the receiving end of a verbal spraying during her short absence. 

“We visited your office earlier, but you weren’t there,” McMahon said accusingly, trying to put Erica off kilter, to gain the upper hand early in the conversation. 

Erica refused to be intimidated by his steely gaze. “Yes, well as you would have heard me telling my brother, I’ll be heading in this afternoon.” 

“Interesting. Your PA informed me you are on leave.” 

“That is correct, Detective. I have family issues which cannot be avoided, but I’m still required to go into work when required.” 

If McMahon was satisfied with her answer, he wasn’t about to show it. “Tell me, has Miss Doyle contacted you in any way?”

“No. Why would she want to see me?”

“Let me ask the questions. When was the last time you saw Miss Doyle?” 

“About three and a half years’ ago, when I was Governor at Wentworth Correctional Centre.”

“I understand you tutored Miss Doyle for a year before becoming Governor?” 

“Yes, that is correct.”

“And after you were fired, you appeared before the Board on charges relating to a sexual relationship with Miss Doyle and some letters she wrote you.”

“Not quite,” she corrected him. “They never fired me over Franky nor the said letters, instead I was forced to resign due to Derek Channing believing I was ineffective in my position as Governor. As to the relationship you refer to, that allegation couldn’t be substantiated, and the Board dismissed the charge.” 

“Did you have a sexual relationship with Miss Doyle?” 

“What do you think?” 

“I’m thinking why were you suspended if you're innocent?” 

 _Bridget’s right, he is arrogant._ “By putting a black mark against my name for my lack of leadership skills would ensure I could not work for the Department for three years. That's why.” 

“Your suspension has now ended?” 

“Yes, although I’m not sure what this has to do with Franky, given she’s been out for the last eighteen months.” 

“You’ve taken a keen interest in Miss Doyle if you know she’s been out for that length of time.” 

Erica didn’t bother to hide her annoyance. “In case you haven’t noticed, she’s been in the news a fair bit lately, and given I tutored Franky during my employment at Wentworth, it’s only natural I would take an interest in the case.” 

“Just covering all bases, Erica. I’m a cop, it’s what we do. So now that your suspension has ended, you could apply to re-enter the prison service?” 

Erica laughed. “You and I both know your line of questioning has strayed off topic, but for the record, I can assure you I have no intention of going back for another beating."

“I’m almost impressed by your honesty, Erica,” he said in a patronising tone. 

“It’s Miss Davidson,” she bit back, matching his arrogance with her own. “And it’s plainly obvious you’ve been digging around trying to find information about me. Am I under any suspicion here?”

“Should you be?” 

“No, I have nothing to hide.”

“Pardon me, but why so defensive, _Miss Davidson_?” McMahon sneered as he empathised every syllable of her name on purpose. 

 _God, I would love to wipe that smirk off your face_. “I’m a lawyer, Detective Senior Sergeant McMahon, and it’s what _we_ do. Now try asking me some questions relating to Franky’s case rather than showing off your substandard detective skills by pointing out what any fool could easily discover about my time at Wentworth.” 

This was Erica at her best. He was in her playground now, and if McMahon’s intentions were to trick her into revealing any hidden truths about Franky by scrutinising her every past move, then he’d better get his facts right, or feel the repercussions. Erica stole a quick glance at Cartwright, who was still looking downwards, but now had a small smile on her face. Erica knew for certain who had the upper hand, and it wasn’t him.  

“Will that be all, Detective?” She leaned back in the armchair, crossing her legs and taking great pleasure at imitating his sneer back at him. 

“I’m sure l don’t need to remind you of the consequences of purposely withholding vital information.” He got up and handed her his business card. “But if Miss Doyle contacts you, or if by some miracle your pretty little brain remembers anything useful, call me.” 

“You’re hovering dangerously close to dealing the sexism card, Detective.”

“This is why I despise lawyers - they always take everything the wrong way.” 

Both detectives made to leave, but then McMahon asked if he could use the bathroom. “Go ahead,” Erica said, as she rose to her feet. “Second door on the right.” 

Erica waited until he was out of sight before turning to Cartwright. “Nice fellow,” she remarked sarcastically. 

“You should have seen the grilling he gave a psychologist earlier this morning. She gave it right back to him, too.”

Erica was torn between listening out for McMahon to ensure he wasn’t venturing in other rooms of the apartment, or pressing Cartwright for information. She chose the latter, confident that Franky was smart enough to be safely tucked away out of sight. 

“How’s the investigation going? Are you any closer to catching Franky?” 

“It’s weird, it’s like she’s completely disappeared without a trace, which leads McMahon to believe Doyle has one, maybe two accomplices who are hiding her.” 

Erica looked in the direction of the bathroom. “He seems persistent.” 

“There’s a reason he’s nicknamed the ‘T-1000’ within the police department.” 

“Because he looks like Robert Patrick?” 

“No, because he’s like The Terminator and won’t stop until he finds Doyle, and if she has accomplices, then he’ll bring them in too. I would hate to be in their shoes.” 

Erica’s throat went dry, but she dared not swallow in case Cartwright noticed. McMahon came out and thanked her before ordering Cartwright to fetch his coat off the hook. Had she been paying attention, she would have seen Franky’s jacket which Erica had placed there on that first night she arrived at the apartment. 

As Erica opened the front door, McMahon turned to her. “One more thing, do you think Miss Doyle killed Brian Stapylton?” 

“No, I don’t. Franky hid behind a tough facade in prison so she could survive in that environment. I find it hard to believe now she is free, she would risk going back to Wentworth by intentionally killing someone.” 

“Lots of ex-cons reoffend.” 

“Not Franky. She’s too intelligent for that.” 

“From what I hear, it’s not her intelligence that is questionable, but her temper. Good day to you, Miss Davidson.”

After the detectives left, Erica headed over to the window overlooking the street. Once she saw their car leave, only then did she allow a few seconds to compose herself before checking in on Franky. An urgent thumping at the door sent her into a mild panic as the thought crossed her mind that the detectives had returned. 

_“Erica, it’s me!”_

“Franky?” She opened the door. “How the hell...” 

“That fucking prick came into your bedroom and went through your bedside drawers!” Franky said angrily, as she barged past Erica. “I was hiding in the walk-in robe and managed to squeeze myself down the laundry chute, ending up in the basement, otherwise he would have seen me. Do you think he knows you're involved?” 

“No, his ego's probably bruised from the serving I gave him earlier, saw an opportunity and seized it. I get the feeling we haven’t heard the last of our friendly detective, and in future we need to ensure we remain at least two steps ahead.”


	10. Cartwright's Secret

Franky stepped out of the en suite wearing nothing but a pink towel wrapped around her head. “I was hoping you would have joined me in the shower for some hot and steamy sex.” She noticed Erica sitting on the edge of the bed, with a look of concern etched upon her face. “And judging by your expression, you disapprove of my suggestion.” Erica continued to ignore her, like she wasn’t even there. “Hey, Earth to Erica, I’m standing here naked and ready, yet you're ignoring me.” 

“Huh? I’m sorry, did you say something?” 

“Is everything okay? You seem distant.” 

“Do you remember Detective Leonie Cartwright?” 

“The chick who tagged along with McMahon when he came to interview you last week?” 

“She’s just called me asking to meet up with her later this afternoon - without McMahon.” 

“What? Why?” 

“She said she may have a lead which could prove your innocence and needs to discuss it with me.” 

“But why you? Maybe she suspects your involvement and wants to use you as bait to lure me in?” 

“I don’t know, but why would she risk McMahon’s wrath by purposely going behind his back?” 

“Could the meeting be McMahon’s idea and Cartwright’s following his orders?” 

“I wouldn’t put it past him. He treats her like his lackey rather than a detective.” 

“Where’s the meeting being held?” Franky’s phone rang. “Hold that thought, Erica... Hello?” 

Erica couldn’t help but feel unnerved at being contacted by Cartwright, mainly because of her association with McMahon, but if it meant clearing Franky’s name, then she decided it was worth the risk. 

“It’s Bridget, she wants to speak to you,” Franky said with a hint of annoyance in her voice as she handed her mobile over to Erica, before heading off to the walk-in robe to select her clothes. 

“Hi Bridget, I’m guessing you’ve received a personal invite from Cartwright?” 

_“Yes, do you think she knows we’re covering for Franky?”_

“I’m not sure. She didn’t seem particularly bright when I was being interviewed by McMahon, but she could have been pretending.” 

_“It concerns me she’s stipulated McMahon won’t be present and has organised for this unofficial meeting at a pub. Hardly conventional.”_

“Exactly, but maybe we can do a little digging ourselves and see what Cartwright has to say?” 

_“Sounds like a plan. What does Franky think?”_

“She’s not too thrilled and thinks McMahon may be behind all of this.” 

_“Feeling’s mutual. Can you pick me up on the way? I would like to discuss tactics we could use to extract information from Cartwright.”_

“Sure, see you in twenty.” Erica handed the mobile back to Franky. 

“Well, this is even more suspicious. Where are you meeting up?” 

“A pub called ‘The Battlers’ Arms’ in Williamstown. Have you heard of it?” 

“Only by reputation. It’s a rough joint, the kind of place a girl doesn’t go alone, unless she’s purposely looking for trouble. Shit, I don’t like this, Erica. Maybe I ought to tag along incognito, sit somewhere nearby, and...” 

“No way! What if it’s a setup by McMahon? The three of us would be in deep shit.” 

“Fuck! I hate not being able to do anything!” 

“What I need you to do is to stay here and try to find out as much information as possible on Leonie Cartwright, okay? Promise me you’ll stay put?” 

Franky reluctantly agreed. “Okay, but make sure you and Bridget look out for each other.” 

“Will do.” Erica kissed Franky goodbye. “Remember, don’t leave the premises, and behave yourself!” 

“Yes, mum. Now piss off before I change my mind!” 

Once Erica had left, Franky spent her time surfing the Internet for anything she could find on Cartwright. Not much information could be found, although Leonie Cartwright came top of her class at the police academy. Her neglected Facebook account was last updated two years’ ago with pictures and comments from her sister, Cassie, throwing her a farewell party before she moved to Melbourne from Launceston, Tasmania. Careerwise, she was mentioned several times on four different task forces, along with the Stapylton murder case, but any media-related interviews were directed at McMahon. 

It concerned Franky that the two women she loved, were at this moment in some seedy pub meeting with a detective who could set them up for anything. Guilt got the better of her, so she sent off a text to Erica: 

 _Please be careful. I love you. xxx_  

With nothing left to do until Erica returned home, she killed time by going through some apps on her iPhone, when one particular app caught her attention: Find My iPhone. It was then Franky remembered she had that same application installed on her previous iPhone - the same phone she had left back at the apartment on the night before Brian was murdered. 

Franky switched back to the laptop and brought up her old Apple account, then typed in the mobile number. A map appeared on screen showing the phone’s current location and that it was still active. 

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” 

There could be no room for error or assumptions here and she desperately needed access to a public payphone to ring her old mobile number, so it couldn’t be traced back to Erica’s place. Franky grabbed a hooded coat and left the safety of the apartment, hoping the cover of a rainy winter’s day would be enough to conceal her identity, and that Erica would forgive her for breaking her promise. 

**** **** **** 

The Battlers’ Arms Hotel in Williamstown was a favourite haunt amongst deadbeats and crims. Close enough to the city, but still off the beaten path, it afforded privacy for people who didn’t want to be seen or overheard. Erica and Bridget purposely arrived early and chose a secluded booth towards the back, and Bridget suggested they sit next to one another, therefore forcing Cartwright to sit opposite them so she could read her body language to see if she was lying. Bridget offered to get the drinks, while Erica occupied herself reading a recently discarded newspaper to check if there were any new leads in the Brian Stapylton case. Her mobile phone buzzed. It was a message from Franky telling her to be careful and that she loved her. Erica smiled to herself as she typed her reply: 

 _Always. BTW, I loved you in your birthday suit this morning. We’ll have that shower later._ ;) 

Bridget arrived at the table with a scotch for Erica, and a glass of red wine for herself. “This has to be the sleaziest shithole in town! Next time you’re buying the drinks. So far I’ve had three propositions for the best fuck of my life, five offers to buy me a drink, one marriage proposal and I narrowly avoided having my arse pinched, twice!” 

“Half of the dodgy-looking people in here remind me of those aliens from that bar scene in ‘Star Wars’. Can I assume none of these fine specimens are good enough for you?” 

“Don’t get too cocky. Do you see that overweight tradesman sitting at the bar wearing a tradie’s blue shirt and shorts?” 

“The one proudly exposing his workman’s cleavage?” 

“Yeah. At first he asked me how much you charge, and when I said that wasn’t your scene, he then asked for your phone number. So play nice, or you may suddenly find yourself on a hot date with a bush pig.” 

“Great, I’ll bring you along for a threesome...” Erica nodded towards the door. “Looks like we’re about to have company. 

Cartwright had just entered through the front door and scanned the surroundings, before walking over to their booth. “Afternoon ladies, thanks for meeting with me at such short notice. My apologies for the choice of venue, but I can’t afford to be seen speaking to either of you without McMahon present.” She then spotted the newspaper Erica was reading earlier, along with its leading headline of stolen printing plates from Note Printing Australia. “I used to work on that task force until I was reassigned to the Stapylton murder case. Craig Pickering and Shane Barlow were both a nasty piece of work.” 

“Must have been a fun case to work on,” Bridget added, rather dryly. 

The sarcasm was lost on Cartwright. “Not really. They were responsible for the theft of the plates and now they’re both dead from gunshot wounds. The newspapers reported that police divers pulled their bodies out of Port Phillip Bay yesterday, but what they didn’t mention is that the wounds were not life threatening. These men were very much alive when they were tied up and sealed inside large hessian bags and weighted down with heavy rocks. Not a nice way to die.” 

Neither Bridget nor Erica knew how to respond to that although Bridget suspected Cartwright could use a few sessions of therapy. 

“So why can’t McMahon know about this impromptu meeting?” Erica asked. 

“McMahon doesn’t believe in going over old leads unless there’s something new to add to the mix.” 

“He doesn’t like you very much, does he?” 

“He likes to work alone and sees me as a burden.” 

“Is that why he demeans and treats you like shit?” Bridget asked. “When you both visited me in my office at Wentworth, I couldn’t help but notice how he talked down to you.” 

“Was it that obvious?” 

“I noticed it too,” Erica said. 

“Yes, he was in fine form that day. Most days I let it slide, but it gets frustrating being treated like I don’t exist.” 

“Can’t you put in a complaint or request a transfer?” Bridget suggested. 

“My superiors believe I need to harden up, and they think McMahon’s wealth of experience can only make me a better detective. Personally, I think his views are outdated and sexist, but...” An unusual ringtone interrupted her conversation.

_You use to bring me roses,_

_I wish you could again_

_But that was on the outside,_

_And things were different then…_

“My apologies, but I really need to answer this...” Cartwright rose from the table and frantically dug awkwardly into the hip pocket of her tight jeans to retrieve the mobile. 

_On the inside the sun still shines,_

_And the rain falls down_

_Bu the sun and rain are prisoners too,_

_When morning comes around_

“Hello?” Cartwright said as she tried to leave the table. “Hello?” 

Bridget had a look of horror spread upon her face and it was enough to catch Erica’s concern. She silently mouthed the words _Are you okay?_ and Bridget nodded ever so slightly. 

Cartwright sat down again. “They hung up. Obviously didn’t want to talk to me! Listen, I need to give McMahon a quick call. If I don’t check in, he gets suspicious.” 

“Sure, go ahead,” Erica said and waited until Cartwright had made her way to the front entrance, nearly bowling several people over in the process. “Okay, what the hell just happened?” 

“That’s Franky’s phone!” 

“What? How do you know?” 

“Because I bought it for her upon her release. Did you hear the ringtone? It’s an old song called ‘On the Inside’. I uploaded it to the phone before giving it to Franky because of the song’s words and significance to prison life. It’s not a tune you hear often, Erica! I just assumed she lost that mobile...” 

“No, Franky told me she accidentally left it at her apartment.” 

“Then how did Cartwright end up with it?” 

“Maybe the police confiscated it when they were sweeping the apartment for evidence?” 

“That still doesn’t answer my question, and if she took the mobile without consent, then surely taking evidence from a crime scene is illegal?” 

“It is, but perhaps McMahon has given her the task of monitoring Franky’s mobile for any incoming calls or messages, hoping it could help in the capture of her? That said, I would have thought their forensic IT guys would deal with something like that rather than a detective. It seems highly unethical.” 

“So how do we find out?” 

“When Cartwright comes back, we’ll ask her about the ringtone.” 

“The direct approach - I like it. The problem is, she’ll lie. What then?” 

“I don’t know. You’re the psychologist, try psyching the living shit out of her.” Erica’s phone buzzed. “It’s from Franky. She says she traced her old mobile to this location and has reason to believe Cartwright picked up. Said she wants us both to get out, ASAP.” 

“We can’t leave. This may be our only chance to find out what is going on. Besides, it’s too late, now.” 

Cartwright was weaving her way through the crowd more carefully this time before settling back into her seat. “Sorry about that...” 

“That’s an unusual ringtone you have on your phone,” Erica interrupted. “‘On the Inside’, I believe?” 

“Is it?” Cartwright replied in surprise as she shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “Er, my... niece loaded it onto my phone as a joke just to annoy me and I haven’t got around to changing it yet. Anyway, enough about that, I’ve asked you both here for a reason.” 

Erica and Bridget glanced at one another with the same thought: Cartwright was lying. But the real question was why? 

“What are you doing with Franky’s phone?” Bridget challenged. She knew it wasn’t what Erica meant, and she also knew she was taking a big risk here, but the payoff could work in their favour. 

They had caught her out, and both parties knew it. “How do you know it’s Franky’s phone?” 

“Because I bought it for her when we were together, but you would know about the relationship given McMahon’s line of questioning back in my office.” 

“Yes, you’re right. I took the phone from the scene before anyone realised it was there.” 

“You stole evidence?” Erica asked. “You could lose your badge over this.” 

“I won’t, because I answer to a higher authority. I know Franky didn’t kill Brian Stapylton, but I need proof.” 

“What makes you think she’s innocent?” Bridget asked. “McMahon seems determined that she’s guilty.” 

“There’s been rumours circulating for some time now that McMahon has a reputation for always getting his man - even if they’re innocent. If it means planting evidence to help put the person away, then so be it.” 

“You’re saying McMahon’s corrupt?” Erica asked. 

Cartwright looked around to make sure no one could overhear her. “I’m working undercover investigating several allegations made towards McMahon for corruption within the police force.” 

“That’s some serious shit, but I don’t see what this has to do with Franky,” Bridget said. 

“Working with McMahon, I am convinced he is hiding or corrupting evidence to discredit Franky’s innocence. There are several of his previous cases being reopened under the suspicion that there has been a misrepresentation of justice.” 

“But that would leave the State opened to be sued,” Erica said. 

“Precisely. So you can understand why the Police Commissioner wants this kept quiet until I can prove McMahon’s guilt. The media would have a field day if they got a hold of this.” 

“So why have you asked us here?” Bridget asked. 

“I need to find Franky before McMahon does. I have her mobile hoping she may call it so I can convince her I’m here to protect her.” 

“What makes you think we know where she is?” 

“I know Franky is smart and resourceful, but she has completely disappeared. Something which would be near impossible without the help of other people, Bridget.” 

Erica cut in. “Are you suggesting we’re helping Franky?” 

“I’m suggesting if she contacts either of you, then hopefully you will have enough common sense to contact me directly and not McMahon.” 

“Why us?” Bridget questioned. “Surely she has many friends who would help her?” 

“Not anyone she can trust. Except you. After your relationship ended with Franky, I discovered you were seeing her until you left for England - one week before Brian Stapylton was murdered. I find it hard to believe she hasn’t tried to contact you since you returned.” 

“Although this meeting is not normal police procedure, you should still be careful what you say to Bridget,” Erica warned. “Given her lawyer is present.” 

“Fair enough, but out of interest, your work number was listed on Franky’s old mobile.” 

“She’s never contacted me.” 

“Yes, I know by looking through the phone’s incoming and outgoing calls, but given your previous history with her at Wentworth...” 

“We’ve been over my history when you interviewed me at my apartment. If there was more to it, I’m sure McMahon would have followed it up by now.” 

Bridget looked Cartwright straight in the eye. “Do you really believe Franky is innocent of Brian Stapylton’s murder?” 

“Yes, I do, but it won’t mean much if I can’t locate her and she winds up dead at the hands of a crooked detective.” 

“Surely McMahon wouldn’t kill her?” 

“If her death means preventing his guilt, then yes, I believe he would. Look, Franky’s case is the only one McMahon is working on at present and if I don’t catch him now, I may not get another opportunity. All I’m asking is if she contacts either of you, get her to call me so I can at least offer her protection from McMahon and the help she needs to prove her innocence.” 

**** **** **** 

“What did Cartwright have to say?” 

Since Bridget had decided not to come back to the apartment in case it raised any suspicions, Erica had to fill Franky in on the meeting. 

“Sounds like a lot of cloak and dagger stuff. The million dollar question is, do you think she’s lying?”

“I’m not sure. She puts forward a convincing case, and I guess if Cartwright really is working undercover, then by acting dumb in front of McMahon, she’ll be hoping he’ll slip up and reveal something important.” 

“Yeah, that makes sense. And you don’t come top of your class at the police academy by being dumb, do you? What does Bridget make of it all?” 

“She thinks Cartwright needs a few sessions and offered her a business card upon leaving!” Erica laughed. “But seriously, she reckons Cartwright is legit or a bloody good liar.” 

“I did some digging on Cartwright and didn’t find much to indicate she could pose a threat to us.” 

“Other than she’s a cop and therefore legally obligated to arrest you, right?” 

“Not too thrilled about being a live target for McMahon, or whether I should accept Cartwright’s offer, but for the moment they can both take a number and wait in line behind everyone else.” 

“Okay, so what do we do now?” 

“We take a trip to Brian’s office first thing tomorrow morning to see if we can find any new leads. I know you’ll think it’s too risky, but it’s a Sunday and l’m hoping there won’t be anyone around.” 

“Wouldn’t the police have gone through the place?” 

“Yes, but they would have been looking for me, or at least looking for clues as to my motive for killing Brian, and not anything associated with the real murderers.” 

“Smart. You’re not just a pretty face. Will we be looking for anything in particular?” 

“Clues as to what Brian was working on before his death. We were investigating three cases at the time: fraudulent use of company funds, one cheating spouse, and a work employee illegally using company resources. Those are the ones I know about.” 

“Do you think there’s a case he may not have told you?”

“It's a strong possibility.” 

“But why would he do that?”

“Private investigators are a paranoid breed. Maybe at first he thought it was too dangerous to involve me, but then things turned nasty and he realised he needed a backup plan? I’m only guessing here, but my gut instinct tells me Brian has left something, somewhere for me to find, and going back to his office seems like the logical place to start.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ‘On the Inside’ by Lynne Hamilton


	11. Piecing the Puzzle Together

As Franky suspected, the surrounding streets were deserted. “Let’s hope no one’s changed the lock,” she said to Erica as they stood in front of the old, but familiar door to Stapylton Investigations. Luckily, her key still worked. 

Erica viewed the surrounding mess. “Wow! The police really trashed this place!” 

“Nah, this is pretty much Brian’s idea of housekeeping. That said, I’ll bet the police weren’t the only ones to have a poke through this office.” 

“I’ll take your word for it. So what can we expect to discover here that everyone else has failed to find?” 

“Hopefully a clue that only Brian or I could decipher which will lead us to another piece of the puzzle. One thing about that old bastard - he was a master at hiding things, although I’m wagering he would have wanted it to remain inconspicuous until he was ready to use it.” 

“What you’re really saying is you have no idea what we’re looking for - assuming there is something to be found - much less where it’s hidden?” 

“Did I say that? C’mon, where’s your sense of adventure? Put your governor’s cap on and pretend you’re back at Wentworth snooping for contraband in my cell.” She stole a quick kiss from Erica before making her way over to the filing cabinet. 

“I would have gotten Fletch or Vera to do that,” Erica mumbled under her breath as she sat at the desk and rummaged through the drawers, taking the time to check for anything attached underneath or behind the wooden panels. 

Franky, meanwhile, was flicking through the files in the cabinet, silently cursing herself for not taking the opportunity during the last six months to bring order to Brian’s office. 

“Grog, coffee and smokes...” Erica was reading out loud to herself. 

Franky laughed. “I didn’t know you smoked!” 

“Brian wrote that as a reminder to himself. He’s completely covered this business desk mat with many dated reminders and several sketches of naked women.” 

“Yeah, I may have been responsible for those drawings...” 

“Really? They’re fantastic. You’d get along well with my brother, Marty.” She continued to scan the pad for anything which may provide a clue. “The most recent memo was dated the day before Brian died. It says to get the kids’ birthday presents, buy a coil from the hardware store... and... another note says to make a dentist appointment, pick up a letter, and to remind Franky to get the bar fridge repaired.” 

Franky scrunched up her face in confusion. “Repaired? It’s never worked the whole time I’ve known him. In fact, he was bitching two days before he died that he wanted to throw the fridge out. He seemed fairly adamant about it. Why would he change his mind just one day later?” She walked over and opened the fridge only to be greeted by the nauseating sight of mouldy food infested with maggots. “I hope he hasn’t hidden anything in there!” 

Erica cringed at the thought of having to sift through the fridge’s contents. “Can we assume the police have already looked?” 

“It’s weird, because Brian used this fridge to store all his current paperwork, not food. Like I said, it doesn’t work. Why would he intentionally clear all the files out and put fresh food in it, knowing it would go off?” 

“Perhaps he was intending on taking the food home and forgot?” 

“Plausible explanation, but I don’t think that’s the answer. It’s like he wants me to examine this fridge more carefully. Give me a hand to pull this thing out.” 

Together, they manoeuvred the fridge out from the wall so they could see behind it. “Nothing there,” Erica said, with bitter disappointment. 

Franky kneeled and studied the back of the fridge intensely when it dawned upon her. “Do you remember that time when we went to my apartment and where I hid the baseball bat?” 

“Inside the rain pipe, but surely you’re not suggesting this is related?” 

“No, definitely not.” Franky fetched a screwdriver from the desk drawer and extracted the screws before removing the dusty grill cover used to protect the fridge’s motor. Part of the motor included a coil which appeared to have been removed previously. “The damaged coil which you mentioned earlier!” Franky lifted the coil out carefully and held it over the top of the fridge, giving it a light tap. To both their surprise, a note roughly a third of the length of a cigarette rolled tightly in cling wrap, dropped out of the coil’s open end and onto the white surface. 

“Well done, Sherlock,” Erica said, impressed with Franky’s sleuthing skills. 

“Elementary, my dear Watson.” Franky unravelled the cling wrap and note, and read out loud, “‘The key to this puzzle lies within 3/76.’ I’m positive this is Brian’s handwriting, I’d recognise his messy scrawl anywhere.” 

**** **** **** 

They arrived back at Erica’s place and discussed the latest developments over a late lunch. 

“Do you remember what was written on that desk mat? Other than the fridge and the coil?” She watched in disbelief as Erica pulled a folded piece of paper from her back pocket. “You nicked the desk mat?” 

“I like the pictures you drew.” 

“Happy to sketch more, if you’re willing to model naked for me.” 

“Later, if you behave. The rest of the memo says the kids’ birthday presents, a dental appointment, and to pick up a letter.” 

Franky slapped her own forehead. “Shit! My jacket! Where’s my jacket? The one I wore that first night I turned up on your doorstep?” 

“It’s still hanging on the back of the front door. Why?” 

Franky rushed over and unhooked her jacket from the peg, digging in the inner pocket and fishing out Brian’s family photo and letters to his daughters, along with the registered letter she had picked up from the post office on the morning he was murdered. She held it up to show Erica. “Looky what we have here, a letter addressed to Brian and written in his own scrawl.” 

“Brian sent a registered letter to himself? Why would he do that?” 

“Let’s see, shall we?” Erica peered over Franky’s shoulder as she carefully ripped open the envelope. Inside was a silver key, with no note. 

Franky sighed heavily. “Well, that’s about as clear as shit.” 

Erica rummaged through Brian’s other letters on the kitchen bench and held up another envelope. “This one also appears to be in Brian’s handwriting, only it’s addressed to you.” 

“My registered letter! I completely forgot about that!” Franky snatched the letter off Erica hoping its contents wouldn’t lead to more questions. “It’s a business card for a storage place in Moorabbin. I’ll bet you a naked romp in the hay that key is for a storage unit at this location!” 

“You were right - Brian involved you as a backup plan.” 

Franky grimaced at the raw memory of his lifeless body in the bathtub. “Which means he must have known his life was in danger.” 

“The note you discovered earlier in Brian’s office said, ‘The key to this puzzle lies within 3/76’. You don’t suppose that’s the unit number?” 

“Looks like it. Care for a road trip over to Moorabbin?” 

**** **** **** 

Located in the industrial sector, the self-storage warehouse didn’t require caretakers on Sundays, due to its easy 24 hour access. The high metal gate had thick diagonal bars spaced evenly apart, and Franky’s first impression was that it reminded her of the gate at Wentworth and she half expected a gate guard to come out of nowhere at any moment and berate them both for loitering. There was also a small numeric keypad, so people could enter their code to open the gate without leaving their car. 

“We need an access code to get in. That could be anything and it probably only allows you a certain amount of retries before it locks you out entirely.” 

“Can we can contact the caretaker?” Erica suggested. “Make up a story to get the code?” 

“They would ask for ID, and Brian would have used a fake name. Besides, we may raise suspicions if we ask questions.” 

“We could wait until someone else arrives, and sneak in behind them before the gate closes.” 

“Nah, l have used this type of storage unit before. Everyone is allocated a unique entry code to enter the property and the building, and if we open the storage unit without using the correct access code at the gate, it will trigger an alarm.” 

“Okay, what would Brian use as an access code? Something he wouldn’t forget - like a significant date?” 

“The photo of Brian’s kids! It has the date of their birthday on the back.” She pulled out the photo from her wallet. “It says ‘25th September 2011’.” 

“Isn’t using his daughters’ birthdate a little too obvious?” 

“But it’s not their birthdate. Well, the day and month are correct, but the year is wrong. It’s the last time Brian saw his daughters - on their seventh birthday in 2011. Brian also mentioned their birthday on that desk mat, remember? I bet that was another clue. This is it, Erica! We have the location, unit number, the key and now we have the code.” Franky held up the photo. “Press in two - five - nine - one - one.” 

Erica keyed the numbers in the correct order, stepped back and waited alongside Franky. 

Nothing happened. 

“Damn it! I really thought we had the correct code!” Franky shouted in frustration. “The answer is in there, and we’re on the wrong side of the fucking fence!” 

Erica looked down at the keypad and tried once more. “Two - five - ZERO - nine - one - one.” 

The gate erupted to life and emitted an electronic humming sound before slowly sliding sideways on its tracking. The girls looked at one another, dumbfounded. 

“We’re in! You fucking legend!” Franky shouted with delight. 

They headed over to the building’s front entrance, where there was yet another keypad. Franky quickly entered the same numerical combination to unlock the door, and they then took the elevator up to the third floor, searching the corridors until they found unit 76. 

“Time to find out what lies behind door number 76,” Franky quipped, as she retrieved the key out of her pocket and placed it into the padlock. 

The locked instantly snapped open. The room was cloaked in total darkness, but as soon as they stepped inside, an automated light flickered to life. There, at the back of the small unit on the concrete floor, lay an old and dented army green metal box, about a metre long, with handles on either end. Franky knelt on both knees and carefully opened the lid, looking inside before reaching in with both hands and lifting out a small object. 

She looked up into Erica’s shocked face. “Holy shit, Erica! What has Brian done?” 

**** **** **** 

Even though Sunday was Bridget’s day off, she was busy at home catching up on the large backlog of reports and case files which had accumulated during her absence in England. The phone rang and startled her. 

“Hello?” 

 _“Hey my lovely, it’s Daniel.”_  

“Working on a Sunday, Danny? Who are you trying to impress now?” 

 _“Ha, you’re a funny gal, Bridge. Remember how you wanted me to make discreet enquiries about recent face reconstructions? Well, sorry it’s taken me so long, but for some strange reason it’s been a difficult task extracting information from certain people who still have the nerve to put their faith in the doctor/patient confidentiality clause. I had to call in a lot of favours, bribes, blackmail and I think I may have promised to sleep with a hot brunette.”_  

“Your dedication is inspirational. Please tell me you’ve found something, Danny.” 

 _“Looks like I may have. I have a report here which appears to match the description of the man you’ve given me.”_  

“I don’t care what everyone else says about you, you are brilliant!” 

 _“Ain’t it the truth! Are you going to continue to be evasive by not telling me why you require this information? Never mind we’ve known each other since our pimple-squeezing high school days?”_  

“Trying to guilt me again, Danny? I promise I will tell you once I know for sure what it is I’m looking for.” 

 _“I could say you’re breaking my heart, but instead I’ll opt for a ‘Be careful, Bridge’.”_  

“Why, Mr Bailey, I didn’t know you cared this much!” 

 _“I don’t, but you promised me three bottles of 20-year-old scotch, and I care for those very much.”_  

“I thought the deal was for two bottles?” 

 _“My liver lied to you. Unlike my conscience, it has no shame!”_  

Bridget laughed. “Are you going to remain at your office for a while longer?” 

 _“For you? Always, sweetheart.”_  

“Good, I’ll be there in half an hour to collect the file.” 

 _“I eagerly await your graceful presence. Don’t forget the scotch.”_  

Bridget hung up the phone and grabbed her car keys, hoping this was the break they so desperately needed to clear Franky’s name. She momentarily thought about sending Franky a text, but decided against it in case it proved to be yet another dead end. 

**** **** **** 

Upon returning to the apartment, Franky laid the two rectangular blocks of solid metal on the kitchen bench for closer inspection. The $20 and $50 printing plates which had been stolen from Note Printing Australia several weeks before, were now in Franky and Erica’s possession. 

Erica broke the silence and said what was on both their minds. “Could it be possible Brian was part of the Note Printing Australia robbery and someone murdered him because he double crossed them?” 

“No way. That’s not even an option.” 

“How do you know?” 

“I... I just know.” 

“But how else could he have gotten the plates?” 

“I don’t know, but he didn’t steal them!” 

“These need to be returned.” 

“Nup, not an option.” 

“We have no choice. The Australian Border Force, ASIO, the federal and state police... everyone in the country is searching for these plates!” 

“These plates are the reason Brian is dead! Cartwright told you Craig Pickering and Shane Barlow stole these plates, right? Well, I’m willing to bet that whoever killed those two is also responsible for killing Brian.” 

“Exactly! And that person will look for you believing you know the whereabouts of the plates.” 

“So who will hand them over to the police? Are you going to do it? Because if I go, they’ll arrest me for Brian’s murder, and they’ll think the plates are my motive.” 

“We could contact Detective Cartwright, she mentioned she used to work on that task force.” 

“What if she betrays us? Erica, the plates are the key to clearing my name. We need to work out how to use them, and until we are certain who we can trust, no one else can know.” 

“You realise this has put a price on both our heads should anyone discover we have them?” 

“Which is why it’s imperative that no one knows, not even Bridget. It’s bad enough you’re along for the ride, but I don’t want to involve her, too.” 

“I don’t mind admitting that I’m scared.” 

Franky held Erica’s hand to her own lips and gave it a reassuring kiss. “I know, babe. So am I, but I honestly can’t see another way right now.” 

Erica nodded. “Well, we can’t keep the plates here.” 

“Agreed. I think the best place for them is back in Brian’s storage unit. No one’s found them yet, and hopefully, it will remain that way.”


	12. Life's a Beach

Erica stood in the cafe waiting for her takeaway coffee to be made. She had noticed the familiar face earlier when she first left the Melbourne Supreme Court, and now she could see him through the cafe’s large storefront window, standing across the other side of Little Lonsdale Street, watching her intently. Refusing to be intimidated by his antics, she grabbed both coffees off the barista and crossed the busy road to confront him. 

“Morning, Detective Senior Sergeant McMahon,” she said, as she handed him the extra coffee. “For you.” 

“What for?” McMahon asked, looking at the paper cup suspiciously like it was a ticking time bomb. 

“Don’t all cops drink coffee when they are on a stakeout?” 

“Is that what you think I’m doing?” 

“So it wasn’t you earlier following me from the court to the cafe?” 

He took a moment to check her out thoroughly before replying. “Pure coincidence. This is the court precinct and l’m required to give evidence in court today to help keep society safe by putting another mongrel behind bars.” 

Erica didn’t appreciate being treated as eye candy, and her patience was wearing thin. “Look, McMahon, if there’s anything you want to say, then stop your bullshitting and just say it.” 

“Back at work?” He goaded her. 

“We’ve been over this already. I come in when required.” 

“That’s right, family issues, wasn’t it? By the way, sorry to hear about your aunt.” He walked away from her and dumped the full cup of coffee into a nearby bin. 

Erica stood frozen to the spot. It was now crystal clear that McMahon was still taking a keen interest in her life. 

**** **** **** 

Franky could feel the tension roll off Erica the moment she came home. “What’s happened? Are you okay?” 

Erica slammed her keys and handbag down on the kitchen bench. “I ran into our favourite Detective Senior Sergeant Sleazy Prick today near the Supreme Court.” 

“McMahon? Do you think it was accidental or was he trailing you?” 

“I’m not sure. He’s still snooping around trying to find out more about me and knows about my aunt being ill.” 

“I didn’t know your aunt is unwell. Will she be okay?” 

“It’s terminal, Franky. She’s been in palliative care for the last two months, but the doctors informed my family they expect her to die within the next few days.” 

“Shit, Erica, I’m so sorry. Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“You already have so much to worry about, that you needn’t be burdened with my problems, too.” 

“Hey, come here.” Franky hugged Erica tightly, stroking her back for comfort. “No matter what, I will always want to know what’s going on in your life. We’re a part of each other’s lives now, so no more secrets, okay?” 

Erica nodded. “No more secrets.” 

The following morning, Erica was up before the crack of dawn. “Wake up!” She belted Franky with a pillow and pulled the quilt off her. 

“You’d better be waking me for sex...” 

“Nope. Guess again,” she said, as she opened the drapes. 

“Fuck, it’s still dark outside!” 

“That’s right, Einstein! Ready for a trip down to the beach?” 

“Hang on, I thought you didn’t like me leaving the apartment?” 

“We both need a break from the madhouse, and a trip down to one of the back beaches on the Peninsula is exactly what we need. Gunnamatta is lovely and will be deserted this time of year.” 

“Are you crazy? The water will be freezing cold!” 

“The weatherman says it will be a sunny nineteen degrees, and there are other things to do than just swim.” 

“The weatherman couldn’t organise a piss-up in a brewery, and besides, I don’t have any swimwear.” 

“Okay, I’ll leave mine at home so we can go skinny-dipping together. I promise I am all yours today to do whatever you want.” 

It took Franky less than two minutes to jump out of bed and get dressed. “Why didn’t you just mention that in the first place?!”

**** **** **** 

Erica pulled up in the nearly deserted carpark at Gunnamatta Beach. The sun and blue skies were no doubt providing a false allure for anyone game enough to test the water, but despite this, a handful of persistent surfers were still out trying to catch waves. 

“Wow, this brings back fond memories,” Franky said, as she got out of the car to admire the view. 

“You used to surf?” 

“Nup. Used to date a surfer girl, though. Memories of having sex on a surfboard were... _interesting_.” 

Erica laughed. “I wonder what interesting memories we’ll create together?” 

“Stick with me kiddo, and you’ll soon find out!” 

“Here, make yourself useful,” Erica said, as she handed Franky the esky and beach bag, and grabbed the towels and picnic basket for herself. They made their way down the steep, sandy slopes, until they found a spot amongst the dunes which gave them protection in case the wind picked up. 

Erica laid out the blanket as Franky unpacked the beach bag. “You packed a sand bucket and shovel?” 

“They belong to my brother’s kids, and sometimes I take them to the beach when they stay over at my place.” 

“That doesn’t explain why you packed them.” 

“I figured you could build me a sand castle to live in.” 

“I can arrange that.” Franky stripped her clothing off, revealing a black singlet, colourful bra and underwear. She flexed her muscles, then picked up the bucket and shovel and declared: “I will be back, my Queen of the Sand Dunes!” 

“Hurry back, oh minion! I shall try to keep myself entertained during your absence.” Erica then pulled a bottle of red wine and glass from the picnic basket and poured herself a drink. 

Half an hour later, Franky came back to collect Erica to show off her sand creation. “A castle... fit for my Queen!” 

“You really expect me to live in this? It only has five bathrooms and nowhere to park my extensive collection of horse-drawn carriages!” 

“What, my Queen is dissatisfied?” 

“It’s in urgent need of renovations.” Erica purposely fell forward, face first into the mound of sand, destroying Franky’s castle. She then rolled onto her back and did angels in the sand before bursting into laughter. “There, that’s much better!” 

Franky laughed. “I can’t believe you did that!” 

“What are you going to do about it?” Erica immediately regretted her words when she saw that all too familiar cheeky smile and a mischievous glint in Franky’s eyes. “Don’t even think about it! Don’t you dare!” 

“Did you say ‘dare’?” 

“Franky, no!” 

Franky scooped Erica up with both arms, and made her way into the water until she was knee deep. 

“Say, ‘I’m sorry Franky for destroying your beautiful castle!’” 

“Franky... you wouldn’t drop me?” 

“I don’t know how much longer I can hold you.” 

“That water looks freezing!” 

“Tell me about it! I’ve lost all feeling in my legs!” 

“Okay, okay! I’m sorry I destroyed your beautiful castle!” 

“You’re forgiven. However, there’s just one tiny problem... you dared me, and a dare’s a dare.” She then dropped Erica into the water. 

 _“Fuck! Fuck! Shit! Fuck!”_ Erica screamed out, as she ran straight past Franky, her clothes soaked through. 

“Woooo! Wet t-shirt competition!” Franky teased, as she chased after her, splashing water at Erica. “Is this exclusive, or can anyone enter?” 

“Sure, why not?” Erica said, as she pushed Franky into the icy cold water.

**** **** ****

Franky sat on the blanket, with Erica sitting astride her lap; the extra-large beach towel draped around them both, helped to protect them from the cold while their clothes dried nearby. The surrounding sand dunes afforded them plenty of privacy, not that there was much chance of anyone stumbling across them. Franky wrapped her arms around Erica’s back to bring her in closer and whispered in her ear, “Have you ever had sex on the beach?” 

“Can’t say I’ve had the pleasure of experiencing sand in my butt crack in that particular way.” 

“Tsk! My Queen is never happy! I shall have our servants remove all the sand immediately,” Franky joked. 

Erica laughed. “Seriously, it’s nice to get away... no phones ringing, no worries. Just you.” 

“Yeah, about that... I switched your phone off so we wouldn’t get interrupted.” 

“Franky, someone maybe trying to contact me urgently.” 

“It would only be from your work and l’m sure they can live without you for one day. Besides, you’re all mine today. You promised me, remember?” 

“But it could also be from the hospital about my aunt.” 

“Shit! I am so sorry, Erica. I completely forgot.” 

“You’re right though, it would be from work...” Erica said, trying to allay Franky’s guilt. She switched on her mobile. “Sometimes I get so bored with my job.” 

“Why do it, then?” 

“It runs in the family. My two older brothers are lawyers, and my father expected me to be one, too. My younger brother, Martin, is the only exception. During his teen years, he rebelled against his upper class upbringing, resulting in expulsion from several of Melbourne’s finest private schools. Then at sixteen, he proudly announced that he had no intention of studying law, instead declaring he wanted to be an artist. Our parents gave him an ultimatum to pull his head in or face the repercussions. Marty retaliated by running away from home to pursue his love of art, and our parents disowned him after that.” 

“Your parents disowned your brother for following his dream? That’s cold hearted!” 

“He’s no angel, Franky. Marty purposely aggravates anyone he considers being a conformist, but yes, my father in particular, was harsh and judgmental towards his youngest son.” 

“Is that why you complied with your father’s wishes? Because you were afraid you’d end up like Marty and abandoned by your parents?” 

Erica chewed her lower lip. “Yes, but deep down I’ve always envied Marty and his uncomplicated views on life. I’m probably the only person he’ll listen to, but that’s because I was always protecting him when we were kids. Mind you, I’m still bailing him out now! I can talk to him about anything, unlike my parents and older brothers. My parents gave me everything I could ever dream of having, but sometimes all a child needs is someone to love them. Not buy their love, you know?” 

Franky nodded in sympathy. Although she had never experienced the spoils or support of her parents like Erica, she couldn’t help but feel that Erica had been abandoned too, albeit in a different way. But the pain was real – just like her own – that much was clear. 

“What about Mark?” 

“He wanted a Stepford Wife and I needed him as a buffer between me and my parents. According to my mother, I wasn’t good enough for him. Like he was my fucking saviour,” she finished bitterly. 

“That must have gone down well when you separated and got a divorce.” 

“They weren’t happy about it, and they put on a fake facade for the sake of the family’s reputation within the elite social circles, but I know in my heart they now see me as a failure.” Erica laughed out loud. “Imagine when I tell them about you!” 

“Would you? Tell them about me?” 

“Yes I will, once we’ve cleared your name. You’ve taught me it’s okay to go for the things which will make me happy, rather than pander to other people’s expectations. For the first time I’m truly in love, and I refuse to have my family lecture me who I can and can’t have in my life.” 

Franky kissed Erica and embraced her tightly. “I love you, Erica, and I’m sorry for your pain. Parents can be so cruel, and should we have any rugrats, I’ll always encourage them to follow their own dreams and not someone else’s.” 

Erica pretended she didn’t hear the comment and scrolled through her missed calls and messages, despite there being none due to the weak signal coverage in the area. Talking about children felt a little daunting to her, especially given their present circumstances. 

“You’re killing the mood here.” Franky complained as she snatched the mobile off Erica and dropped it beside her. 

“I’m sorry, baby.” 

“I just want us to be together with no interruptions.” Franky twirled Erica’s hair around her fingers. “I love how you’ve let your hair grow longer, it makes you look even sexier.” She nuzzled her neck. 

Erica giggled. “You are such a tease!” 

“So, a Stepford Wife, huh? Guess I’m gonna have to teach you how to cook like a Michelin chef.” 

“Thinking of domesticating me?” 

“Actually, I think it would be a crime to domesticate you, especially given people have been trying to do that to you your entire life. You are in unchartered territory now, which I think excites you beyond comprehension.” Franky burst into laughter. “Fuck! Where did that come from?!” 

It shocked Erica to hear Franky say the words which had plagued her own thoughts for many years. “That’s very philosophical for you. Good to see you’ve listened to Bridget.” 

“Maybe.” Franky lightly stroked Erica’s upper thigh, gradually moving her hand upwards. “What I want to do is test your inhibitions and boundaries further, whilst your curiosity is at its peak and you’re willing to experiment. There’s so many hidden layers to you which I intend to take my time to peel away one by one and explore in much greater detail.” 

“Is that so?” 

“You once told me I had reignited a secret passion in you, which you had long thought extinguished. Tell me I’m wrong.” Franky smiled to herself knowing full well she was right; the wetness which coated her fingers was all the proof she needed. 

Erica swallowed hard, and reached down to cover Franky’s wandering hand with her own, forcing her to apply more pressure. “Tell me, do you always get what you want?” 

“Yes, but I’m not the only one getting what she wants, am I?” 

A small moan escaped Erica’s lips, as she continued to guide Franky’s hand. “I’m not just talking about sex.” 

“Oh, I know exactly what you meant,” she whispered in Erica’s ear. “Okay, when I think the victory is worth the fight, I’ll do everything possible to win, but not at the risk of endangering your life or breaking your heart, Erica. As for sex, I can assure my intentions with you are purely pleasurable. Now it’s your turn. What are your inhibitions and boundaries, Miss Davidson?” 

Erica’s phone buzzed several times with notifications due to the delayed signal. She glanced down to see the mobile’s screen. “Shit, there’s fifteen missed calls and seven messages!” 

“What?” Franky quickly snapped out of her own arousal and into a mild panic. Surely it had to be about Erica’s aunt? 

“They’re all from Bridget. The messages say to call her urgently.” 

Franky checked her own phone, but there were no messages or missed calls. “Why would she be calling you?” 

“I don’t know.” Erica returned Bridget’s call and spent the next fifteen minutes talking to her as she fended off Franky’s desperate attempts to snatch the mobile off her. Finally, she hung up. 

“Well? What’s happened? Is Bridget all right?” Franky knew it was bad news. 

“Franky...” Erica hesitated, a look of concern etched upon her face. “Bridget was involved in an accident two weeks’ ago, where a stolen car hit her car on the driver’s side. She suffered a broken arm, two broken ribs and severe bruising down the right side of her body, but said it could have been worse if not for the car’s airbag. The hospital released her this morning, and she’s now resting at a friend's place.” 

The colour drained from Franky’s face. “We need to see her, _now_.” 

“I’m sorry Franky, but Bridget refuses to reveal where she's staying."

“What? That’s complete bullshit! Why would she say such a thing?” 

“The car accelerated before hitting her...” 

“You mean someone purposely tried to kill her?” She could feel the panic rising from within. “Why the fuck would anyone do that?” 

“Bridget saw the man’s face before passing out. He looked through her car window, before stealing a file off the passenger seat, and running away on foot. She said he was bald with a scar across his face.” 

Franky gasped in horror as she immediately recalled the conversation with the young street kid Corey, and his unique description of one of Brian’s attackers: _Four big scratch marks. It looked like he’d been attacked by Wolverine, y’know?_

“That sounds like the man who killed Brian!” 

“It seems that way. Bridget seems to think - and l’m inclined to agree - that someone has discovered she’s been making enquiries with medical establishments about this guy. She was on her way back home after meeting up with a friend who gave her the file when she was hit. Bridget also seems to think they know about your previous relationship with her and that she was intentionally targeted in the hope that you would be flushed out into the open.” 

“That would mean it’s my fault! They hurt Gidget because she was trying to help me!” 

“You can’t think like that! These people don’t care about anything other than getting the plates back. It’s their fault, not yours.” 

“That doesn’t make me feel any better. Did she find out what was in the file?” 

“No, she hadn’t the chance to read it yet. Her friend, Daniel Bailey, was found later that same day, tied up and bashed. His office was ransacked and his laptop stolen. Bridget thinks someone tapped her home phone which would explain how they discovered about the meeting and exchange of the file.” 

“But why did she call you instead of me? And why did it take so long for her to contact us? I should have known something was wrong; she never goes this long without speaking to me. Damn it, I need to see her, Erica. I need to see for myself that she’s really okay!” 

“I’m sorry, Franky, but I can’t. Bridget purposely waited until she left hospital because she knew you would come running and was afraid I may not be around to stop you from doing so. It’s why she contacted me directly, and not you.” Bridget had made the right decision, Franky would have done anything to see her. “I know how frustrated you must feel, but you need to understand - exposing yourself now would destroy everything all three of us have worked so hard for.” 

“What if the attack on Gidge was a warning and you’re next?” 

“How could they know about me?” 

“They knew about Bridget, didn’t they?” Franky felt defeated. “I’m up for a murder I didn’t commit, meanwhile the culprits responsible will do anything to get their plates back, and there’s a lunatic bent cop who wants to frame and possibly kill me. I’m starting to believe Wentworth’s a safer option at the moment.” 

“You can’t possibly mean that.” 

“At least I know who my enemies are on the inside. I don’t know what to do and I’m frightened, Erica.” Franky teared up. “I don’t know how much longer I can intentionally remain hidden, whilst the people I love the most risk their lives and get hurt trying to protect me.”


	13. Friends in High Places

Erica curled up on the lounge with her head resting in Franky’s lap, enjoying the spoils of a relaxing head and neck massage. It had been a tough week since their day at the beach, with Erica’s aunt passing away and Franky still affected by the guilt and helplessness of not being there for Bridget. She absentmindedly changed the tv channel for the umpteenth time that night, annoying Erica to a point where she confiscated the remote and shoved it down her skirt, and into her underwear. 

“Don’t think for one minute I’m afraid to retrieve that remote, Miss Davidson!” She chuckled as she kissed Erica tenderly on the lips. 

“What if I dared you?” 

“Are you sure you want to travel down that path again?” 

“I don’t see no water, and a dare’s a dare...” 

Franky laughed, and gave Erica several more quick kisses, before manoeuvring herself on top, undoing the buttons on Erica’s shirt with her teeth, and unlatching her bra so she could suckle on the hardened nipples. Erica moaned wildly as Franky slowly teased her way downwards, hoisting the skirt up over Erica’s hips to discover the remote still lodged in her underwear. 

“Looks like I’ve stumbled across the lesbian channel!” 

“You’d better hope it’s not pay per view.” 

Giggling like a couple of rebellious and horny teenagers in the back row of a cinema, they failed to hear the start of the evening news until they heard the words ‘printing plates’ which caught their attention. 

 _“Good evening, viewers. The case of the stolen printing plates continues, with a man charged over the murder of Craig Pickering and Shane Barlow, whose bodies were found dumped in Port Phillip Bay. We cross live to our reporter, Hayley Jovanka, outside the Melbourne Magistrates’ Court.”_  

“Hey, isn’t that the bitch journo who gave you a hard time when you were governor?” 

“Parasite, is a more apt description.” 

 _“Thank you, Sarah. Dimi Grigoris has just appeared in an out-of-court session over the brutal slaying of Craig Pickering and Shane Barlow who were the alleged masterminds behind the robbery of the printing plates from Note Printing Australia in Cragieburn three months’ ago. Mr Grigoris allegedly worked for the murdered victims, and police believe he may have double-crossed Pickering and Barlow to obtain the plates for his own use.”_  

Right on cue, half a dozen detectives left the court, with Leonie Cartwright amongst them. Reporters eagerly descended upon the detective in charge of the task force, blocking his exit by shoving microphones in his face and demanding answers to their questions. 

In her typical display of arrogance, Haley pushed her way to the front of the hungry pack of wolves. _“Detective, have the printing plates been recovered?”_  

 _“At this stage we have not located the plates, however, Mr Grigoris is helping us with our enquiries. We are confident they are still within the country and my team won’t stop until we have them back in our possession.”_  

The news report flashed some earlier footage of Grigoris, handcuffed and sitting in the back seat of an unmarked police car as it pulled up in the court’s driveway, waiting for the security roller door to open. The alleged murderer was bald and had a distinctive scar consisting of four slash marks across his face. 

Franky gasped. “Fuck, that’s the henchman who killed Brian, and tried to kill Bridget! There’s been no mention of Brian, though, which means the police aren’t aware they’ve caught his murderer, too. At least we no longer have to worry about this Grigoris guy trying to hurt us, and I bet that either Pickering or Barlow was with Grigoris on the night they were casing out my apartment. But what I don’t understand is why Cartwright is part of that investigation? I thought she told you and Bridget she’s assigned to Brian’s murder case to track me down?” 

It was then Franky noticed Erica had been uncharacteristically quiet. “What’s wrong? You seem distracted.” 

“McMahon was there.” 

Franky had been so focused on what the lead detective had to say that she failed to see McMahon in the news footage. “Are you sure?” 

“Positive. He was standing behind the other detectives trying to appear inconspicuous. What’s he doing there? Has he discovered the connection between Brian and the plates? Or maybe McMahon now has reason to believe you’re the missing link between the two cases? It would explain why Cartwright is back working on the task force. Perhaps he is, too? This could be bad news for us, Franky.” 

A long silence hung in the air between them. 

Franky felt an overwhelming sensation of pure hatred towards these people who had made her a prisoner out in the free world. “I’m tired of hiding, Erica. I need to prove my innocence and the only way I know how is to use myself and the plates as bait.” 

“Now that is sheer lunacy! These people are not playing games. Just because the police have caught Brian’s murderer, doesn’t mean there’s not more people involved in the NPA robbery. Then there’s McMahon. If he finds you, you’ll wind up at the morgue wearing a toe tag.” 

“Exactly, but McMahon is my biggest threat at the present. I feel like it’s become a cat-and-mouse game, only he’s gaining ground on me and is about to pounce. If he nabs me, he’ll get you too, and I would never forgive myself if you ended up as my bunkie in Wentworth.” 

“What do you have in mind?” 

“I’m thinking it’s time we called upon our friendly neighbourhood detective.” 

“You mean speak to Cartwright? No way!” 

“It makes sense, Erica. We need to find out precisely what the police know, and Cartwright is our best source.” 

“It doesn’t sit well with me. I know she’s trying to bring McMahon down for corruption, but she’s still a cop. You said so yourself she may betray us. What if she arrests you?” 

“If you can come up with a better idea, then I’d love to hear it.” 

“That’s what scares me most. I’m devoid of ideas that l’m actually considering your suggestion.” 

“Okay, I’ll set up a meeting with just Cartwright and myself, and before you protest, I want you kept out of the picture until I’ve sussed her out and am satisfied she will not betray either of us.” 

“Your idea doesn’t thrill me. Do me a favour and mention nothing about us having the printing plates. If that evidence were to end up in the wrong hands, they won’t care it will prove your innocence.” 

“Fair call. C’mon, let’s go.” 

“Where to?” 

“Cartwright’s house.” 

“Now? Are you mad?” 

“It’s an old intimidation tactic I picked up courtesy of Brian. She won’t be expecting me and therefore will be caught off guard. Besides, it will unnerve her that I know where she lives.” 

Erica got up to follow but halted. Her eyes widened as she reached down inside her skirt and fished the remote from her damp underwear. 

“Ha! I hope that remote is waterproof!” 

Erica slapped the remote into the palm of Franky’s hand as she walked past her and out the front door. “You still owe me one, and I intend to claim later on tonight.” 

**** **** **** 

It was around 11pm when Franky knocked on Cartwright’s door. Cartwright was taken aback at seeing Franky standing alone on her doorstep, but to her credit, she immediately accepted the invitation and left the safety of her own home. They walked to a nearby bar which Franky and Erica had scoped out earlier to ensure there was at least two exits should Franky need to make a quick escape, and it also made her feel safer knowing Erica was parked around the corner from the bar, waiting in her car. 

Cartwright rested two glasses of beer on the table. “Never been in this place before, but l’ve only moved into the area recently.” She looked around, observing the surroundings before continuing. “I’m impressed and a touch unnerved in that you know where I live.” 

“That was my intention.” 

“McMahon underestimates you, but I think you are one smart cookie.” 

Franky leaned back in her chair, resting her right ankle on top of her left knee. “You can quit sucking up my arse, Cartwright. I need answers and tag - you’re it.” 

“How do you know I won’t just arrest you now and take you in?” 

“I don’t, but given you volunteered to leave your gun, mobile and handcuffs back at your house, shows you want this meeting as much as I do. What I need to know upfront is can I trust you?” 

“You contacted me, remember?” Cartwright took a sip of beer. “Okay, let’s start by saying I know you’ve been living these past couple of months with your girlfriend, Erica Davidson.” 

Franky called her bluff. “And what lead you to that conclusion?” 

“I saw your burgundy leather jacket hanging on the back of Erica’s door that day when McMahon and I went to interview her. The unique embroidery design matches the description given to the police by witnesses.” Cartwright leaned forward. “If I thought you were guilty, don’t you think I would have arrested you back then and receive a shitload of brownie points towards a promotion?” 

“Why didn’t you?” 

“You want to go back to prison?” 

“Of course not, but...” 

“Did Erica tell you about me working undercover regarding McMahon’s corruption within the police force?” 

“Yeah, she mentioned it, but it no longer makes any sense.” 

“How so?” 

“I saw you on the news this evening working on the printing plates case, yet you told Erica you left that task force to work on Brian Stapylton’s murder with McMahon, so you could keep an eye on his movements.” 

“That’s right, but I now have reason to believe the stolen printing plates and Brian’s murder are connected, and McMahon is a suspect in both crimes. I was reassigned to the task force earlier this evening when Dimi Grigoris was arrested over the double murder of Craig Pickering and Shane Barlow.” 

“Erica sighted McMahon standing behind you in the news report. Why would he be there, given your suspicions towards him?” 

“He was with me at the time I got the call about the arrest and tagged along to the court. I couldn’t object because he’s legally entitled to be there.” 

“He’s not on the task force with you?” 

Cartwright laughed. “Are you interrogating me, Franky? I can assure you McMahon is only working the Stapylton murder.” 

“If he’s associated with both crimes, wouldn’t he be a touch unnerved given you’re working on the task force again?” 

“McMahon’s a cocky bastard, but his biggest flaw is he thinks he’s smarter than me, and as annoying as that is, it does make it easier to keep an eye on him. This is a perfect example of keeping your friends close, but your enemies closer, Franky.” 

“That’s one hell of a game you’re both playing.” 

“Yes, and it will end ugly. My job is to make sure McMahon ends up behind bars and I don’t get myself killed.” 

“What I don’t understand is why he wants me so badly. I feel there’s more to it than wanting to pin me for Brian’s murder.” 

“Your instincts serve you well. You’d make a good detective. I believe McMahon worked for Pickering and Barlow and assumes you know the whereabouts of the stolen plates, given your association with Brian Stapylton.” 

“That would explain why he’s so determined to locate me. As for Brian, I had no idea he got himself in so deep.” 

“This is serious, if you know the whereabouts of the plates, now is the time to tell me.” 

Franky swallowed hard. “No,” she lied. “Given my lack of experience, Brian let me investigate the easier cases like cheating spouses.” 

“Okay, but from here on I need you to stay hidden. I can’t make a move on McMahon until he screws up and exposes himself.” 

Franky chewed on her lower lip. “I was thinking of clearing out and taking Erica with me.” 

“Not a good idea. I’ll keep you informed of any new developments, but right now I need you both to sit tight. The last thing I need is for McMahon to go on a blood hunt, and I can’t protect you if I don’t know where you are. If you need to contact me, then call me on your old mobile number and I’ll meet up with you when it’s safe to do so.” 

“What about a safe house?” 

“Negative. Given the circumstances, I’d have to do a lot of explaining and the fewer people who know about you, the better.” Cartwright hesitated before continuing. “Look, I expect the shit to hit the fan in the next day or two and it could turn nasty very quickly. Prepare to drop everything should my team need to get you out ASAP, but in the meantime, watch your back and tell Erica to be careful, too.” 

**** **** **** 

On the drive home, Franky filled Erica in on her meeting with Cartwright. 

“So what do you think? Should we trust her?” Erica asked. 

“Well, she knows we’ve been living together for the past couple of months.” 

“How did she find out? We’ve always been careful.” 

“She saw my jacket that day she interviewed you. She could have arrested me on the spot and opted not to, so I’m inclined to think she’s genuine.” 

“Not happy about a detective knowing our situation, but I must admit, it would be handy to have Cartwright on our side.” 

“Yeah, I reckon we’ll need her help sooner, rather than later.” 

After returning home from their late night rendezvous with Cartwright, Erica offered to brew the coffee. Franky sat on the lounge suite and noticed a pile of photo albums neatly stacked on the coffee table. She had seen them earlier, but was too preoccupied to sneak a peek, but now as she flicked through the pages, she laughed at any embarrassing photos of Erica. 

“What are you up to?” Erica shouted from the kitchen. 

“Snooping through your drawers.” 

Erica entered the room with a mug of coffee in each hand. “Don’t you mean my photo albums?” 

“Brian used to say private investigation consisted of snooping in other people’s drawers.” 

Erica sat alongside Franky and handed her a mug. “I’m going through my old stuff and getting rid of things I no longer need or want.” 

“You shouldn’t throw out old photos.” 

“Even the humiliating ones?” Erica cringed each time Franky turned a page to present yet another embarrassing photo of her, along with family and friends. 

“Especially those!” She spotted a photo of Mark and Erica together. “So this is what my predecessor looks like. Not a bad looker. I always wondered what would be your type.” 

“You’re my type.” 

“Are you tossing me a line, sailor?” 

Erica laughed. “It’s just that these photos of Mark and I have nothing to do with my new life with you.” 

“Don’t throw them out. From what you’ve mentioned previously, Mark wasn’t an arsehole and these photos tell a chapter of your life’s story.” Franky turned another page. “You have so many photos!” 

“Surely you’ve accumulated many over the years?” Erica immediately regretted the comment given she knew Franky grew up in unstable environments. 

“Nup. My mum threw them out when my father left. I did have one of me and Alan which he sent when I was in Wentworth, but I tore it up in anger after I told Alan that I never wanted to see him again. The only photos I have now, are the ones inside my head.” 

Erica sighed. “I’m sorry Franky, for being so insensitive by asking such a dumb question. My parents showered me with the best of everything, and sometimes I forget not everyone is as fortunate.” 

“You’re not being insensitive and it wasn’t a dumb question. Most people my age would have tons of photos.” 

Erica retrieved her phone off the coffee table. “We’ll start a new photo album with just the two of us and the memories we create together.” She draped her arm around Franky’s shoulder, and kissed her awkwardly on the lips, while taking a selfie. “Our first photo together!” She held up the screen - it showed the top of both their heads. 

“Your photography skills royally suck!” Franky laughed. She then noticed a picture of Erica with two black eyes and a heavily bandaged nose. “Oh, I bet there’s a good story to accompany this photo!” 

“It was an incident which happened over ten years’ ago.” 

“Oh my God, you got into a fight?” 

“Don’t be absurd!” 

Erica tried to snatch the album from Franky’s hands, but she quickly pulled it away. “Are you sure? Because that would be a complete turn on for me!” 

Erica knew Franky would harp on about it until she relented. “Mark and I went to Greece for a holiday and took a trek by donkey up to the Acropolis. I was showing off my riding skills and looked back to stir Mark when our tour guide shouts out ‘Skipse! Skipse!’ Given my zero understanding of the Greek language, I ignored him and turned around in time to smash my nose on a low tree branch and fall off the donkey.” 

Franky laughed out loud. “So you were being an ass... I hope the donkey was okay?” 

“Keep taunting me Franky, and you’ll be nursing your own broken nose!” Erica joked. “Anyway, I later learned _skipse_ means _duck_ in Greek.” 

“Skipse,” Franky repeated, parrot-like. “I’ll keep that in mind should we ever visit Greece.” 

“We can, once this mess is over. I hear Santorini is very romantic.” 

Franky held Erica in a headlock and pretended to punch her nose. “Deal, but only if I’m in charge of the camera!” 

“You are definitely cruising for a broken nose, Doyle.” 

“No way,” Franky said as she released Erica from her grip. “Besides, I know how to defend myself. What about you?” 

“I think I did a convincing job back in your apartment.” 

“Yeah, but if someone came up from behind and surprised you, would you know what to do? Especially after what Cartwright told me tonight, you will need the skills to defend yourself.” 

“Probably not. Why don’t you show me?” 

“Right now? It’s 3am!” 

“I didn’t realise I needed to make an appointment.” 

“Okay, help me move the coffee table out of the way.” They cleared the area and made sure there was plenty of room to move. “Now, lesson number one: there are no rules to fighting when your life is in danger. Use every dirty fighting tactic you can think of including whatever you can lay your hands upon to use as a weapon...” 

Franky went to the kitchen and selected a utensil from the drawer before returning to the lounge room. 

“That vegetable peeler looks dangerous.” Erica held both hands up, pretending to surrender. “Much more effective than a baseball bat!” 

“Quit being a smartarse. In prison, this would make a good shiv.” She approached from behind and wrapped her arm around Erica’s neck, digging the pointed end of the vegetable peeler lightly into her throat. “I could easily puncture your throat and rupture a major artery, just like Bea did when she killed Jacs with a pen. Still think this peeler is ineffective?” 

Erica suddenly felt very vulnerable. “Lesson learnt.” 

“Good. You’re ready for lesson number two. If possible, bite your attacker hard on the arm, or throw your head back hard and smash them in the face. Hopefully, you’ll break their nose and they will loosen their grip long enough for you to escape or turn on them - like gauge their eyes. If it’s a guy, don’t be afraid to kick him hard in the crown jewels, and if it’s a chick, then do what Boomer would do - punch her in the tits.” 

“Is this what you had to do to survive in prison?” 

“Yeah, but luckily, I had Boomer watching my back. Whether it’s belting your attacker with a baseball bat or smashing their nose, always remember, that person wants to hurt and possibly kill you. Never give up and never make it easy for them, because remember, _winning means living_.” 

Those three words had an impact upon Erica as she worked hard to master the few self-defence tactics, and when Franky tried to accost her from behind once more, she narrowly avoided having her nose broken. 

“Oh, you’re gonna pay for that!” 

“Maybe you should have ducked?” 

“It’s _skipse!_ ” Franky dropped the peeler to the ground and tried to wrap her arms around Erica’s body, only to be heaved over the shoulder, leaving Franky sprawled on the ground with the wind knocked out of her. 

“Shit, I am so sorry, Franky!” 

“Where did you learn that?” 

“I’ve no idea. Too many action movies in my youth?” 

“More likely from watching too many prisoner fights on the surveillance cameras at Wentworth.” 

Erica giggled as she thought back to what she liked to watch on the surveillance cameras. “Trust me, it wasn’t always the fights I was watching.” 

“Oh yeah? I always wondered what you did in your office all day.” 

“A girl’s got to keep some secrets.” 

“Do tell, dirty girl!” 

Erica shot her a mischievous grin as she held out her hand to help Franky up, but instead was pulled down on top of her. 

“You cheated!” Erica laughed. 

“Nope. I’m doing whatever it takes to win.” 

Franky gripped the back of Erica’s head forcing her closer so they could kiss deeply. Their tongues entwined as they fought with an urgent desire instead of their fists; with Franky’s self-defence lesson having now crossed over into a heated contest as they both battled for sexual dominance. 

Even though the power appeared to have shifted, Franky liked this newly discovered aggressiveness in Erica and found it highly arousing. Still, curiosity got the better of her and she threw her right hand up and wrapped her fingers lightly around Erica’s throat, pushing her head back. 

“What’s gotten into you? Do you want power, this time in?” 

Erica struggled slightly with the pressure against her throat. “All this fighting... I want to know... just this once... what it feels like to be you.” 

“To be me, is to be Top Dog. And the only way to be Top Dog, is to fight me for it.” 

She released her hand and used her upper body strength to try to shove Erica onto her back to regain control, but Erica was equally determined not to relinquish her empowering position by using her body weight to pin Franky down. She shrieked in shock as Erica sank her teeth into the base of her neck to mark her territory and ensure she knew who the boss was this time in. 

 _Fuck! The little vixen drew blood!_ She allowed Erica to hold her wrists in a vice-like grip above her head before she could accidentally inflict any further serious injuries. 

Erica grew impatient and snatched the vegetable peeler off the floor with her free hand, holding it to Franky’s throat. “Are we done fighting?” 

Franky nodded. “You win - just this one time.” 

She licked her lips in anticipation as she watched Erica rip the clothes off her body, dictating the end of their short, but rough foreplay; diving between Franky’s legs and swirling her tongue around the folds and engorged clitoris. She surrendered herself to her fate when Erica pushed her tongue inside her, with Franky using her hand to push down on the back of Erica’s head as a final act of defiance - and to help enhance her own pleasure. Franky didn’t have to wait long, and when she came, it was a deep and satisfying orgasm which made surrendering the fight more worthwhile. 

Erica wasn’t finished with her victory spoils just yet, breaking free of Franky’s weakened hold and kissed her hungrily on the lips, as she rammed three fingers inside her and thrusted vigorously until Franky hit her second orgasm, leaving her breathless and drenched in sweat. 

“Remind me to teach you how to bite, my blood-sucking vampiress,” Franky said, as she lay on the floor trying to catch her breath. 

“How do you know I didn’t bite you hard on purpose?” 

Franky laughed. “Holy shit! What have I created?” 

Erica kissed her lightly on the lips, before whispering in her ear: “Remember, baby, winning means living.” 

“Yeah, but you cheated!” 

“Nope, just doing whatever it takes to win the battle.” 

Franky smiled to herself. She wasn’t entirely convinced she had lost this battle, but she had won the war, even if it had taken her many years to do so.


	14. The Enemy Within

After enjoying a late sleep in, it was nearly mid-afternoon before Franky and Erica finished cleaning up and returning the furniture back to its original place, when there was a frantic thumping on the door. 

“It’s Cartwright, open up!” 

Erica rushed over to unlock the door. “What’s going on?” 

Cartwright pushed past with a sense of urgency about her. “McMahon knows Franky’s living here, and he’s on his way over, working under the guise of a warrant to search these premises. He also has an arrest warrant issued for Erica, to make it appear legitimate in case other cops turn up at the same time.” 

“What do you mean by working under the guise of a warrant?” Erica questioned with concern. 

“I now have irrefutable proof that McMahon is involved in the robbery of the printing plates and he knows Franky has them. He’s using the warrant as a cover, but his real intention is to kill her and take the plates!” 

“But how does he know we have them?” Franky asked. “We haven’t told anyone.” 

“Somehow he’s found out.” 

“We need to leave!” Franky spotted a small paring knife lying on the kitchen bench and pocketed it. Even though the knife was small, it could be easily concealed. 

“Franky, you need to clear out. The search warrant will be pointless without you here, and McMahon won’t be able to arrest Erica with no proof.” 

“But Erica will be safer with me.” 

“If she leaves with you, McMahon will have all the proof he needs that Erica has been a part of this all along, and the warrant for her arrest will be valid.” 

“Cartwright’s right, Franky. I know my rights and I can challenge McMahon within the boundaries of the law. If I keep this legal, then he has nothing on me.” 

“But if you have the proof, why can’t you arrest him when he arrives?” 

“It’s not a good idea to confront a dirty cop on my own. Someone like that won’t surrender easily, and the guys from the task force are on their way. Hopefully, they’ll arrive before McMahon does, but you need to leave because if McMahon finds you here, he’ll kill you both, and probably me, too.” 

“Would he really kill us?” Erica asked. 

“Yes, because once he has extracted the information from you, he’ll kill you to cover his own tracks.” 

“Please leave,” Erica pleaded as she pushed Franky towards the door. “I couldn’t live with myself should anything happen to you!” 

“Do you have a car?” Cartwright asked. 

“She can take mine.” Erica handed her keys to Franky. 

“Erica, I can’t leave without you!” 

“She’ll be okay, Franky. I’ll stay here and tell McMahon I arrived moments before he did. He won’t try anything because you’re not here, and with me around he will just carry out the warrant to search the premises.” 

“Cartwright, I don’t know how I can ever repay you...” 

“Not getting yourself killed, would be a good start.” 

Franky nodded, then kissed Erica. “Be careful. I love you.” 

“I love you too and don’t worry about me. Just make sure you’re safe. I’ll contact you as soon as McMahon leaves.” 

“I’ll take care of Erica for you, Franky. Now get the hell out of here!” 

Franky pulled the knife out of her coat pocket and bounded down the two levels of stairs to the underground carpark. The adrenalin pumped through her veins giving her the shakes, and she clumsily dropped the keys and knife on the ground as she tried to unlock the car. As she bent down to retrieve the keys, she saw a dark shadow reflect off the car door in front of her. 

Before Franky could react, a large, masculine hand covered her mouth at the same time as her arms were twisted painfully behind her back with the other hand. All her time in Wentworth had taught her many tricks and methods to either defend or weasel her way out of most dangerous situations, but it counted for naught right now. No matter how much she struggled, the man was too strong, causing her more pain with every movement. 

“Quit moving and the pain will cease.”

Franky knew who owned that deep voice with its slight Irish accent. It was Detective Senior Sergeant Lachlan McMahon, and after chasing her for over two months, he had finally caught up with her. 

McMahon frog-marched Franky into the nearby stairwell, and held her firmly up against the brick wall, with his hand still covering her mouth. 

“Don’t scream, just listen. Got it?” 

Franky nodded to acknowledge his demand. _This is it_ , she thought. And even though she was terrified beyond, her final thoughts were not flashbacks of her own life, but of her love for Erica and how she would have given anything to hold her close just one more time. McMahon removed his hand away from Franky’s mouth and she immediately spat in his face. 

 _Never give up and never make it easy for them, because remember, winning means living._  

“You kill me, and you will never find out where the printing plates are hidden! That’s what you want, isn’t it? The plates?” 

McMahon didn’t even bother to wipe the spittle off his face. “Are you finished?” 

“I haven’t even started. Go fuck yourself, you bent piece of shit!” 

“Where’s your pretty blonde girlfriend?” 

If Franky was afraid before, it was nothing compared to how she felt now. Would he stoop to hurting Erica if Franky didn’t give him what he wanted? She swallowed hard. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Davidson. The one you’ve been shacking up with these past few months.” 

“If you fucking hurt her...” She lost control and in her anger, wrangled her right hand free and punched him square in the solar plexus. A weaker man would have crumbled - and it knocked the wind out of McMahon - but he grabbed her hand and pinned it back against the wall. She lashed out with her feet, hoping one of her stray kicks would connect with his groin, until McMahon pulled her forward by the scruff of her collar, and slammed her hard against the wall, knocking the breath out of her. 

“Stop trying to kick me in the fucking nuts, Doyle! Now tell me, is she with Cartwright?” 

“Yes!” Franky spluttered. “And Cartwright told me she’ll blow your fucking head off if you go anywhere near them!” She hoped the lie sounded convincing. 

McMahon looked visibly aghast, and Franky laughed. “That’s right, arsehole. She knows you were working for Pickering and Barlow before their demise and has enough evidence to put you away for many years, although you needn’t worry about that, as I can assure you cops have a limited shelf life in prison.” 

She braced herself for his physical retaliation, but instead McMahon released his grip. She slid down the wall, until she was sitting on the floor. 

“Shit,” he said. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, but for the record, I’m not the bent cop. And if you don’t tell me where Cartwright is, then your girlfriend will also end up as fish food at the bottom of Port Phillip Bay.” 

Franky took a moment to digest this new revelation. “You’re trying to tell me it’s Cartwright who’s bent? You really expect me to believe that bullshit?” 

“I don’t expect you to, but right now we need each other.” 

Franky flinched as McMahon pulled the gun out of his holster, taking the safety off. He then handed it to her along with two full spare clips. “The gun’s loaded and ready to fire.” He then placed his hands behind his head and leaned against the wall with his back facing her. 

Franky picked herself up off the floor. Was this a trick to gain her trust only to kill her once he had the plates? But what if he was telling the truth about Cartwright? Erica’s life would really be in danger. 

“I’ve just given you an out, Doyle. You can clear out and keep running from the law, or you can help me stop Cartwright, get your girlfriend back and clear your name. Your choice, but make it quick.” 

The anger within was threatening to explode, and it took all her willpower not to take a swing at McMahon just for the hell of it. If McMahon was correct, then Cartwright had played her well, and she had little choice but to take a chance with him. 

“If you’re lying, I will blow your fucking head off!” Franky wasn’t sure if she could follow through with the threat, but if anything happened to Erica and it was his fault... 

“Stop pretending to play Rambo, Doyle,” he replied calmly. “You need to decide whose side you’re on.” 

She handed McMahon his gun. “Don’t make me regret this.” 

“Good to see you’ve finally come to your senses,” 

“I still don’t trust you, but for Erica’s sake... Cartwright’s upstairs in the apartment.” 

They had finally reached an uneasy truce. 

Franky snatched the knife and keys off the floor and they raced up the stairs and onto the landing outside the front door. McMahon instructed Franky to stand to the left-hand side of the door, in case Cartwright was on the other side waiting to greet them with a spray of bullets. 

McMahon raised his gun out in front of him, held his breath, and kicked the door in. 

They were too late. There was evidence of a fight, with glass from the coffee table smashed into hundreds of fragments, and patches of fresh blood on the carpet. Glass crunched under McMahon’s shoes, as he made his way over near the coffee table. He extracted a handkerchief from the inner pocket of his jacket and carefully picked up a large shard of glass covered in blood, holding it up to the light to inspect it further. 

“It looks like your girlfriend put up one hell of a fight.” 

Franky winced as she looked at the bloodied makeshift weapon. _Please not let that be Erica’s blood. Please let her be all right and it’s Cartwright who is injured._ But deep down within, she knew it wasn’t, and it made her sick to her stomach knowing she left Erica in Cartwright’s care, so she could escape to safety. 

“Still think I’m the enemy, Doyle?” 

His question went unanswered as Franky knelt down and picked up Erica’s mobile off the floor. The screen was smashed and it no longer worked. 

“Cartwright won’t kill Davidson yet, given she’s purposely chosen her and not you.” 

If McMahon was trying to comfort Franky, it wasn’t working. She sniffed and looked up at McMahon, tears welling in her eyes. With a quiver in her voice, she asked, “I have little choice but to trust you. How do we get Erica back?”


	15. Winning Means Living

“Do you and Davidson know where the printing plates are, Doyle?” 

“Yes,” Franky replied as she wiped away the tears with the back of her hand. McMahon followed her as she searched each room hoping Cartwright left a note or any clues, but to no avail. “They’re safely hidden where no one will find them.” 

“Cartwright’s taken Davidson, which means she needs her to locate the plates. Would Davidson reveal the location?” 

Franky shook her head. “No way. Erica’s too stubborn to tell.” 

“Then where’s Cartwright, Doyle? Do you have any idea?” 

“Cartwright has my old mobile. I'll phone her and find out.” 

“The missing evidence, I should have guessed. Put it on speakerphone, I want to hear what this bitch has to say.” 

Cartwright answered on the first ring. _“_ _Congratulations on not getting your head blown off by that inept moron. So, I take it you’re calling because you’re missing something?”_

“I could ask you the same question, Cartwright.” 

 _“Ha! Touché, Franky. Let’s play a trading game, shall we? The printing plates for your girlfriend.”_  

“We don’t negotiate,” McMahon said. 

There was a few moments’ silence on the other end while Cartwright contemplated the obvious shift in alliances. _“Is that McMahon? Tell him if he wants in, then he needs to be a good boy and play by my rules.”_  

“Cut the bullshit, Cartwright. What’s the deal?” 

 _“D Division at Pentridge Prison, in Coburg. Franky should feel right at home there. Be there with the plates in one hour, no cops, just you Franky, and McMahon’s welcome too if he has a desire to die today. But if I so much as sniff another cop, Erica is dead.”_  

“I don’t play by your rules, Cartwright. If you kill her, you’ll never see the plates, and I’ll shoot you myself.” 

Franky cut in, “Make it ninety minutes so I can pick up the plates.” She hung up the phone before Cartwright could object. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Doyle? We don’t negotiate.” 

“I’m not risking Erica’s life just to stroke your ego. I couldn’t give a shit about the plates, but if I can use them to get Erica back, then I will,” Franky challenged him. “Cartwright mentioned earlier about the task force being on their way.” 

“She fed them a story and sent them off in the wrong direction.” 

“Why didn’t you follow?” 

“It’s called hedging your bets. I’ve made a lot of incorrect assumptions about Cartwright, and after working with her I now realise she’s more cunning than she looks.” 

“Are you going to ignore her and call for backup?” 

“I should, but Cartwright knows police procedures, and she’s desperate enough to follow through and kill Davidson. It doesn’t thrill me we’re about to walk into Cartwright’s lair, unprepared. I fucking hate surprises.” 

Franky took the mobile off speakerphone and dialled a number. 

“Who are you calling now?” 

“Just buying insurance, McMahon.” 

McMahon twigged quickly. “Westfall?” 

“She’s on my side and the only reliable option we have.” 

They ran downstairs to McMahon’s car which Franky observed was parked across the driveway, blocking the exit to the building. She realised then she wouldn’t have been able to leave the premises in Erica’s car. 

“We need to make a pit stop via Moorabbin to pick up the printing plates.”

“Cutting it close, Doyle.” 

“Tell me about Cartwright. What exactly are we dealing with here?” 

McMahon seemed hesitant at first, but Franky had earned the right to know the truth. “Cartwright’s a dirty cop who worked for Craig Pickering and Shane Barlow, the guys behind the heist of the printing plates from Note Printing Australia three months’ ago. They had a buyer lined up in the US and organised for the plates to be smuggled aboard a shipping container via a firm based in Port Melbourne.” 

“Let me guess, the same shipping firm Brian was investigating.” 

“Correct. Cartwright requested to be assigned to the newly formed task force so she could keep Pickering and Barlow informed of any new developments, put the police off the trail, and corrupt or steal evidence.” 

“Like my old mobile.” 

“Exactly. They had to hold off sending the plates offshore as it became too hot to handle thanks mostly to the publicity generated by the media. Cartwright was their eyes and ears and could inform Pickering and Barlow when it was safe to move the plates with minimal chance of getting caught.” 

“But why was Brian Stapylton killed?” 

“Stapylton discovered that the dock worker who was to smuggle the plates was an illegal immigrant who overstayed his visa. The worker did not understand how valuable the plates were and offered them to Stapylton in exchange for him and his family not to be arrested and handed over to the Immigration Department for deportation. When Pickering and Barlow discovered Stapylton was snooping around, they hired a hitman by the name of Dimi Grigoris to kill him before he got too close to the truth, setting you up for the murder.” 

“Wouldn’t they have wanted Brian alive given he had the plates?” 

“Pickering and Barlow discovered Stapylton had the plates in his possession after he was murdered, and that was only when the dock worker later admitted he gave them to him. It cost the worker his life, too. About the only thing going in Pickering and Barlow’s favour, was that you disappeared after discovering Stapylton’s body. However, they needed to get to you first before the cops did, and so Cartwright received fresh orders to locate you alive.” 

“But I really didn’t have much to do with the shipping firm case.” 

“Still, you were their only link to finding the plates. Cartwright then applied for a transfer to work on the Stapylton murder case with me to make it easier for her to track you down using police resources without raising suspicions.” 

“But why didn’t Brian hand the plates over to the police?” 

“The plates had been missing for only a short time by that stage. It’s standard practise for the relevant authorities to offer a substantial reward, and he would have known this, given his line of work.” 

“So he was holding out to claim the reward?” 

“I’d say so. Ironically, they announced a reward of one million dollars, the day after he died.” 

“I guarantee that money would have gone to his daughters - they meant the world to him.” 

“Yes, but his daughters lost their father because of those plates,” McMahon reminded her. 

“Brian would have suspected his life was in danger, which is why he hid the plates and left hints which only I could decipher.” 

“Which is why she needed to tail you and hinder me from bringing you in. You’re no good to her behind bars.” 

“Did you know Cartwright fooled us into believing you were under investigation for corruption within the police force and that it was you who worked for Pickering and Barlow?” 

“Yeah, Little Miss Innocent played her part convincingly. Anyway, when Pickering and Barlow turned up dead, and Grigoris taken into custody over their murder, she would have realised she was the last one standing to claim the plates. All she needed was for either you or Davidson to show her where they were.” 

“Shit! I just realised... Cartwright tricked me into telling her that Erica and I were the only ones who knew the location of the plates!” 

“She was desperate by that stage. With Grigoris in custody, she had to act fast as he knew she worked for Pickering and Barlow. It was only a matter of time before he would confess to receive a reduced sentence, and that’s how I found out it was Grigoris and not you, who killed Brian Stapylton.” 

“But why did she take Erica and not me?” 

“I’d say when she realised Davidson also knew the location of the plates, she would have decided she no longer needed you. Davidson has now become her safety net and bargaining tool to keep you in line should things not go according to plan. You’ve always got to have a Plan B when you have something which is worth millions of dollars.” 

“No longer needed me? Shit, she tried to set me up! She probably hoped you’d arrest me, not realising you had already discovered she was part of the printing plates robbery.” 

“More likely she was hoping I would shoot you if you didn’t surrender...” 

A chill went down Franky’s spine, as she hadn’t even thought of that option. “Would you have shot me?” 

“Would you have stabbed me with that knife?” 

“Maybe. I honestly don’t know.” 

“Lucky for the both of us we’ll never find out, Doyle.” 

“So Cartwright’s plan was for you to kill me and then kill Erica once she had the plates?” 

“That would be my guess. Eliminate all credible witnesses.” 

“Fuck! I want Cartwright alive, McMahon. I have a few close mates in Wentworth who would be happy to throw her a welcome party, but if she kills Erica, I’ll be pissing on her grave.” 

“I didn’t hear that. Besides, a wise person once told me that bent cops have a limited shelf life in prison anyway, so you needn’t worry.” McMahon smirked at her, and Franky took that as his attempt to crack a smile. 

**** **** **** 

Despite being early evening, the residents were already in for the night, protected from the cold night air. McMahon parked his car along the deserted Pentridge Boulevard, and Franky retrieved both plates from the boot of the car. 

“Ever heard of the expression, ‘Don’t put all your eggs in one basket’?” 

She understood his subtle hint and dumped one plate in the boot and stuffed the other into a small backpack, flinging it over both shoulders. “We have half an hour to get Erica back, before Bridget calls in the cavalry - assuming she doesn’t freak out beforehand and ring them early.” 

“Then we’d better make it count, Doyle,” McMahon said, as he checked his gun. “If I had a spare piece, I’d give it to you. Do you still have that knife?” Franky nodded. “Don’t be afraid to use it.” 

As they walked down Pentridge Boulevard, Franky glanced up at the guard towers and the imposing six metre high bluestone wall topped with razor wire. Beyond those walls, stood one of Australia’s notorious maximum security prisons, once home to Melbourne’s most dangerous criminals. 

“I can’t believe we’re about to break into a fucking prison.” 

“A _decommissioned_ prison,” McMahon corrected her. “It shut its doors back in 1997 due to excessive violence, murders and many escapes. The developers have been bulldozing whatever they can get away with and gradually converting the remaining bluestone buildings into expensive housing for those who are rich enough to sleep with ghosts.” 

Franky had heard the many horror stories from the older inmates at Wentworth whose loved ones did hard time in this hellhole. “Is it true Pentridge is haunted, and many prisoners died?” 

“Over three hundred and fifty lost souls, and not all of them were prisoners. Many were murdered, some suicided, and the courts condemned a few to the gallows, before the Victorian Government abolished the death penalty in 1974. Those were the statistics officially recorded. Pentridge makes Wentworth look like a kiddie daycare centre.” 

Franky swallowed hard. “We could be added to that tally, today.” 

“Dying’s not an option on my shift, although I’m willing to make an exception for Cartwright.” McMahon saw the look of unease on Franky’s face. “Are you going to be okay?” 

“Sure, it’s just another happy day in paradise, right?” She struggled to keep up with McMahon’s long strides as they turned the corner from Pentridge Boulevard into Wardens Walk. “Why did you park so far away?” 

“Because if Cartwright makes it out of here alive, I don’t want her using my car to escape and discovering the other printing plate hidden in the boot.” 

D Division was one of the few bluestone buildings saved from the wreaking ball due to its heritage status, and even though modern and brightly painted townhouses surrounded the prison, it still stood out as a reminder of Coburg’s unpleasant past. Franky and McMahon now stood before the tall complex wondering how the front door and security gate were both wide open, with no sign of forced entry. 

“Looks like Cartwright laid out the welcome mat for us,” McMahon said, as he raised his gun, ready to fire. “I need you to stay close, but should anything happen to me, you need to get the hell out of here. Phone ‘000’ and tell them an officer is down. This place will be inundated with police faster than you can spell dirty cop.” 

Franky felt a sense of déjà vu, remembering saying something similar to Erica back at her apartment, and pulled out her knife. It now seemed inadequate for what they were about to do, especially given this was Cartwright’s playground. 

“Let me check inside the wardens station for power to light this place up,” McMahon said. “Stay in the foyer and keep a lookout.” 

Moments later, she heard him curse loudly. “What did you find?” Franky asked as she peered inside. 

“The security guard.” McMahon pulled on a pair of rubber gloves so he could examine the body with minimal disturbance to the crime scene. “His keys and gun are missing. Now we know how Cartwright gained access to the building.” 

“He’s dead?” 

“Shot in the back at close range.” 

McMahon stepped over the body and checked the power board. “Cartwright’s ripped the fuses out, so there will be plenty of places for her to lie in wait ready to ambush us. Stay alert,” he warned. 

They walked up the ramp and came out onto the middle level of the eastern end of the prison. Even though the place was dark, the green exit signs cast an eerie glow throughout, giving them enough light to see without the use of a torch. 

“The exit signs must draw their power from a different electrical source, in case of an emergency and the complex loses power,” McMahon said as he viewed the prison from their vantage point near the top of the stairs. 

The long, rectangular three storey building was divided into two wards: East and West, both of which housed the cells. The upper and middle tiers had narrow metal gangways either side to access the cells while the lower level had flooring made of dark grey polished flat stone, and McMahon could just see the other set of stairs at the western end of the prison. 

To complicate matters, the East and West wards were separated by the Circle; a large, round ‘no-man's-land’ gated off on one side to prevent prisoners from leaving their ward. Inside, the Circle had two more staircases giving access to all levels and the main guard tower on the roof, along with an exit on the lower level leading into the outdoor exercise yard. 

Today though, all the gates were unlocked, as was all one hundred and ninety-six cells with their doors left wide open, leaving them more vulnerable to an attack. 

Franky nudged him. “Which level do we take first?” 

McMahon lowered his voice to prevent any echo. “We’ll start with the lower level as the stone flooring should absorb any noise we make. You walk on the left-hand side, and I’ll take the other.” 

“I thought you said to stay close?” 

“Change of plan. It’s too exposed, and if we stick together, she can pick us off easily. Stay as close to the wall as possible and let the dark shadows being cast from the above gangways conceal you. Make sure you close the cell doors before you pass them.” 

“What if Cartwright’s hiding in a cell?” 

“Too risky. She might back herself into a corner.” 

They moved quietly down the metal stairs to the lower level, and McMahon immediately pulled Franky into the shadows. He looked up at the tiers above. “This won’t work, we’re human targets no matter where we are. I need to flush her into the open so we know where she is and hopefully give us a fighting chance.” 

“How?” 

“Let’s see how much she despises me. Stay here and get ready to run.” 

McMahon took a few deep breaths to prepare himself mentally and stepped out from the shadows and into the middle of the wing where Cartwright could see him from almost anywhere within the prison. 

“Where are you, you fucking psycho?” McMahon shouted. “Come and get me!” 

From the top level, shots were fired in his direction and at the staircase, cutting off their escape route. 

“Run!” McMahon shouted at Franky, as he quickly sought cover and returned gunfire. 

Franky sprinted through the Circle and all the way towards the back of the West ward, hoping the distance and darkness provided enough cover to prevent her from being seen and shot. 

More gunfire exploded like loud firecrackers; the noise amplified by the large, empty prison. Franky was about to climb the old metal stairs to the middle level when she realised McMahon was standing on the top step breathing hard. 

 _He had his gun pointed directly at her!_  

“Fuck, Doyle, I nearly shot you! Get your arse out of here and find somewhere safe to hide.” 

At that point, a shot rang out from behind him. McMahon’s eyes widened, and he clutched his chest, before tumbling forward down the stairs and landing at Franky’s feet, face down. 

“I said you would die today if you tagged along, McMahon.” Cartwright leaned over the upstairs metal railing and purposely fired another three bullets into his lifeless body. “Just making sure he’s dead.” She then aimed her gun at Franky and pulled the trigger, but the clicking sound showed the clip was empty. 

Cartwright quickly reloaded and recommenced firing at Franky as she fled down the wing, dodging bullets as they ricocheted off the metal piping and peppering the plastered walls around her. Franky could hear running footsteps not far behind, so she upped her already blistering pace to put as much distance between herself and Cartwright. As she rounded the corner into the Circle, she noticed the exit to the exercise yard, and pulled frantically on the handle. 

“Fucking locks!” Franky said, as she kicked the door in frustration. 

She backtracked and went between the two staircases, almost running headlong into a dead end with nothing but old and broken furniture piled against a sealed off door. With the footsteps getting closer and with just seconds to spare, Franky grabbed a wooden chair and threw it hard at Cartwright as she entered the Circle. She stumbled backwards against the wall, temporarily dazed, and Franky seized the opportunity to lunge at Cartwright with her knife, plunging it into her right upper arm, causing her to drop her gun. She clenched her fist and punched Cartwright hard in the mouth, sending her sprawling to the ground. 

Cartwright slowly lifted herself up onto her hands and knees and spat a mouthful of blood and several teeth on the ground. 

Franky stood over her. “You’re fucked, Cartwright. The police know you were working for Craig Pickering and Shane Barlow.” 

“You really think I give two fucks about the police?” 

“Where’s Erica?” 

It was then Cartwright noticed her service revolver on the ground in front of her, virtually concealed by the darkness, and out of Franky’s line of vision. She smiled to herself and laughed. “Fucked. Like you will be shortly...” 

In one swift movement, Cartwright snatched the gun off the ground, spun around on her knees and fired blindly in Franky’s direction. The bullet whizzed past her left ear missing her by centimetres, and she took that as her cue to make her escape into the darkness of the East ward before Cartwright could take proper aim and fire again. 

Franky ran flat out until her lungs felt like they were about to explode, sprinting up the staircase to the middle level only to discover the main entry locked, and she was now a prisoner with no way to escape.

Silence descended upon the prison once more and Franky sought refuge in a cell on the top level, so she could catch her breath and plan her next move. The tiny room was dark and claustrophobic, despite leaving the door wide open so as not to attract Cartwright. As she leaned against the far wall, all she could hear was the sound of her heavy breathing and her own beating heart, and although she knew she was alone, she couldn’t shake the eerie sensation of being watched. Something caught the corner of her eye and she spun around in a mild panic only to find nothing but darkness and empty space. _Over three hundred and fifty lost souls. Maybe Wentworth isn’t so bad._  

She pulled out her mobile to dial ‘000’ when she heard Cartwright’s distant voice. 

_“Oh, Franky! Where are you, Franky? Won’t you come out and play with me? Don’t be shy!”_

An evil laughter echoed throughout and bounced off the surrounding walls, and she realised she couldn’t contact the police as per McMahon’s instructions. It was time to finish this, and the only way to do so was to face off with Cartwright; but with McMahon dead, and nothing to defend herself with, Franky knew the odds of surviving were slim. 

 _“Please, Franky, if you won’t come out and play with me, then I’ll find a new friend.”_  

A high-pitched scream cut through the air. 

It was Erica. 

 _“She’s so pretty, Franky! Her blonde hair is so soft to touch!”_  

Another high-pitched scream, and it was enough to give Franky the confidence she needed to face the Devil head on. She followed the taunting and the laughter until she arrived back within the Circle, and took the two flights of stairs down to lower level, where she noticed the gate to the exercise yard was now open. She cautiously stepped outside and allowed a few moments for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. 

In the middle of the enclosed yard, Erica stood awkwardly, favouring one leg. Franky could see her right thigh bleeding badly despite being wrapped in a tourniquet, and the moonlight reflecting off her golden locks which was matted with blood. 

“Erica, are you okay? Where’s Cartwright?” 

But Erica didn’t answer. It was then she realised Erica's hands were handcuffed and Cartwright stood behind her using her as a human shield; her left arm hooked around Erica’s throat. 

“Move towards the back wall,” Cartwright said as she raised her gun against Erica’s temple. Her voice had a chilling and unnerving edge to it, and she still had the knife embedded in her upper arm like it was a trophy rewarded to her as proof of her endurance to pain. 

Franky took a wide berth around them. “Thinking of leaving, Cartwright?” 

“The last thing I want is for you to stand between me and the only exit out of here.” 

“You’re not leaving here with Erica.” 

“Let me remind you who’s in charge.” 

Cartwright traced the gun slowly over the contour of Erica’s body, before resting the point on her thigh; she then pressed the tip of the gun into the wound, causing Erica to scream out once more in agony. 

“Leave her alone you sadistic bitch!” Franky shouted. 

“Then give me what I want.” She then licked the side of Erica’s tear-stained face. “A fair enough trade, don’t you think?” 

“Hurt her again and I will kill you,” Franky threatened through clenched teeth. This time, she meant it. 

“Tough words, Doyle. Do you have the guts to follow through?” 

“I’ve killed before, and if need be, I’ll do it again. Only this time, it won’t be accidental.” 

“Franky, no!” Erica screamed. Despite her own life being in danger, she didn’t want Cartwright discovering Franky’s secret. 

“Yes Franky. Listen to your girlfriend, and maybe I’ll let you take her home in two or three pieces. Give me those plates, now!” 

Franky stole a quick glance at her watch. Any minute now, but she still needed to buy more time. “McMahon has the plates.” 

“You’re lying. I hope you like funerals, Doyle.” She brought the gun back up against Erica’s temple. 

“Franky!” Erica cried out, fresh tears rolling down her face. “Please... just go!” 

Leaving the scene without Erica was not an option, and it took all of Franky’s willpower to ignore her lover’s pleas, but it was play along or watch Erica die. “Wait!” Franky pulled the printing plate out of her backpack. 

Cartwright’s eyes narrowed into thin slits as she sighted the prize which she so desperately wanted. “Where’s the other one?” 

“It’s still hidden. I’ll lead you to it when you release Erica.” 

“You don’t get to dictate the terms, Franky. I do.” 

“It appears we both have something the other wants.” 

Cartwright became agitated. “You’re a real piece of work, Doyle. You should thank me and yet all you do is to continue to piss me off! Who do you think kept you safe all this time? I’m the reason you’re not dead or rotting in prison!” 

“Right... which should I be thanking you for first? Not dobbing me in so I could lead you to the plates? Or intentionally sending me to the carpark hoping McMahon would kill me?” 

“You still don’t get it, do you? I could have taken Erica from you a long time ago, like I almost did with Bridget Westfall.” 

“But that was Dimi Grigoris who tried to kill her.” 

“Grigoris is a hitman who will offer his services to the highest bidder. In this case, me. I gave him the order to tap Westfall’s phone and kill her.” 

“You’re so fucking dead, Cartwright.” 

Cartwright tightened her grip around Erica’s neck. “Before or after I take away what you love most?” 

Franky could hear faint sirens in the distance and she allowed herself a small sigh of relief. _Thank you, Gidge! Let’s hope the police arrive in time._  

“That’s the police coming for you, Cartwright.” 

“But I won’t be here, Doyle. It will just be you to explain two dead bodies to the police - assuming they don’t shoot you first, when they realise you’ve killed one of their own.” 

Unseen by Cartwright, McMahon staggered into the exercise yard, with his left shoulder soaked in blood, dripping down his arm and pooling on the concrete floor. He grimaced in pain as his head wound bled into his eyes, and he was unsteady on his feet due to the large loss of blood. He lifted his gun and leant his right shoulder against the gate to help steady his aim at Cartwright, but could not take the shot without killing Erica, too. 

Franky could see his predicament over Cartwright’s shoulder. “Erica, _skipse!_ ” 

Erica immediately threw her head back, smashing Cartwright’s nose, who loosened her grip enough for Erica to duck and sink her teeth into Cartwright’s forearm, unknowingly allowing McMahon to get a clear shot. 

With only one bullet left in the chamber and no time to reload, he fired. 

Cartwright copped a bullet straight through the back of her skull, and immediately slumped forward onto Erica, bringing them both down hard. 

McMahon dropped his gun as he fell to the ground, no longer moving. 

Franky ran over and quickly pulled Cartwright’s twitching body off Erica, squirming as she ruffled through Cartwright’s pockets to retrieve the key so she could free Erica from the handcuffs. 

“I’m okay, check on McMahon,” Erica said, as she applied pressure to stem the flow of blood coming from the fresh cut on her forehead. 

Franky ran over to McMahon, and felt for a pulse. “He’s alive!” She used her hand to apply pressure to the wound in his shoulder. “Hang in there, McMahon! The cavalry’s nearly here!” 

**** **** **** 

Erica sat on the edge of the bed dressed in a hospital gown, exhausted but unable to sleep after her ordeal. The doctor had completed his medical duties, and the police who had briefly interviewed her, wanted her to go to the police station to give a formal statement upon her release from hospital. Only Franky remained in the room now, standing in between Erica’s legs, lightly stroking her hair. Erica remained positive considering the trauma she had gone through, requiring a bandage to the back of her head along with two stitches to her forehead and eleven to her right thigh caused by the broken glass from the coffee table. Nothing she couldn’t handle. The emotional scars, however, would take longer to heal. 

“How’s McMahon?” Erica asked Franky. 

“He came out of surgery an hour ago. The surgeon said McMahon had a bullet lodged in his hip and another one went clear through his shoulder, but fortunately he was wearing a bullet-proof vest, which prevented the other bullets from killing him. He’s lost a lot of blood, though. The next 24 hours are the most critical, but he’s expected to recover.” 

“That’s good to hear.” Erica smiled and leant her head against Franky’s shoulder for comfort. “How are you holding up?” She mumbled into Franky’s shoulder. 

The last 48 hours had finally caught up with her and the tears flowed. 

Erica cupped Franky’s face in her hands. “Baby, are you okay?” 

“I thought I lost you, Erica. I was afraid l’d never be able to hold you again and tell you how much I love you.” 

Erica gently kissed Franky on the forehead, the tip of her nose, and lastly on her mouth. “Bad news, baby. You’re stuck with me for good.” 

Franky left the room once Erica had fallen asleep from the sedative administered earlier by the doctor. As soon as she stepped out into the corridor, the media clamoured around her with camera flashes going off and microphones shoved in her face. Two constables helped Franky push her way through the throng to the other side where Bridget - ignored by the media - was sitting alone in her wheelchair, waiting patiently for Franky to join her. 

“Fuck, Gidget, you look like shit!” Franky wrapped her arms around Bridget’s undamaged shoulder, and hugged her tightly, allowing herself a few more tears of relief. “Erica and I owe you our lives.” 

Bridget smiled. “There’s never a dull moment with you, Franky. I hope poor Erica knows what she’s getting herself into.” 

“Poor Erica? What about poor me? Where’s my sympathy?” Franky sniffed, as she pulled away from the embrace. “I hurt my fist when I smashed Cartwright in the mouth!” A wicked smile spread slowly across her face as she held up her bandaged hand, like she was seeking validity. 

“Awww, poor Franky!” Bridget replied with mocked concern, as she squeezed Franky’s bandaged hand on purpose. 

“Ouch! No more sympathy, please!” Franky laughed. 

A young constable who looked fresh out of the police academy interrupted their conversation. “Excuse me, ladies, but if you’re ready to leave, there’s a police escort outside waiting to drive you both home.” 

“Okay, but on the condition it doesn’t involve me in handcuffs and sitting in the back seat of a prison van!” Franky quipped. 

The constable gave her a quizzical look, but Bridget understood the joke and roared with laughter as Franky pushed her wheelchair out to the car.


	16. We Two Are One

**_Two Weeks Later..._ **

McMahon lay awkwardly on his right side in the hospital bed to help ease the pressure off his bandaged hip. With his arm still in a sling, it was difficult for him to read the morning newspaper, and each time he turned the page, he would openly curse Cartwright for the inconvenience she had caused him. “Even in death, she’s still busting my balls.” 

Franky walked through the door at that moment, followed closely by Erica, who required the use of a cane due to her leg injury. “Hey, McMahon, talking to ghosts, now? Just as well you have your own room! Good to see you’re still alive and kicking.” 

“Well, if it isn’t the Heavyweight Fighter of the World and her lovely sidekick, Miss Davidson.” 

“Hello, Mr McMahon, let’s try this again.” Erica handed him a takeaway coffee cup before making use of the visitor’s chair beside his bed. 

“Bless your cotton socks, I won’t be throwing this one away. The coffee they serve in hospital tastes like horse piss.” He turned his attention back to Franky. “So what’s it like to be on the front page of every newspaper in the country, Doyle? Way to clear your name, find the treasure and get the girl. Now half the bloody country thinks the sun shines out of your arse. Fucking attention seeker!” 

“Get stuffed, McMahon. How’s the hip and shoulder? Did you want me to put the bullet back in?” 

“Nope.” He reached over to his bedside table and held up a small glass vial containing the bullet fragments removed from his hip. “It’s now my lucky charm, but thanks for the offer. The doctor says the shoulder should heal, but the hip will cause me ongoing problems.” 

“You’ll be able to walk again, though?” Erica asked with concern as she took the vial off him to examine its contents. 

“Eventually after a few months of rehabilitation. My career as a detective out in the field, is now officially over. Looks like I’ll be sitting behind a desk from now on.” 

Franky shook her head. “Shit, sorry to hear, McMahon, but a desk jockey? I don’t see that happening.” 

“You're right. After all the bullshit with Cartwright, the police commissioner’s having kittens over internal security within the police force, and I don’t fancy being stuck in an office to witness the fallout firsthand.” 

“Perhaps it’s time for a career change?” Erica suggested. 

“Maybe. Reckon I’d make a good private investigator? Or perhaps I could be in charge of security at Note Printing Australia?” He snorted at his own tasteless joke. 

“Speaking of which, what about the printing plates?” Erica asked. “I assume they’re back with the NPA?” 

“Yep. Bloody more trouble than they’re worth. So what’s next for the both of you?” 

“As you so graciously pointed out, we’re attention seekers now,” Franky reminded him. 

“No, I said you were.” 

“Yeah, well, a few TV shows and magazines have offered us some serious dollars to tell our story. Can you believe that shit?” 

“May need to hit you up for a loan sometime.” 

“Nice try, but Erica and I are donating all the proceeds to abused and homeless children.” 

“You two realise the million dollar reward for the plates is heading your way?” 

“It’s being redirected to a trust fund set up for Maddison and Katie. It’s what Brian would have wanted.” 

“You’re softening, Doyle. Must be your girlfriend’s good influence. So what’s next for the dynamic duo?” 

“A long and well deserved romantic getaway with lots of hot, erotic sex... preferably with Erica.” Franky laughed and McMahon joined in. 

Erica’s face turned bright red with embarrassment. “Franky!” She scolded. 

Franky continued, “After that, l’ll finish my law degree so I can legally give the cops a hard time.” 

McMahon laughed. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from you Doyle, but if you’re ever in need of a real job, call me. Stapylton was a smart man.” 

Erica cleared her throat in disapproval. 

“Ha! Thanks for the offer, McMahon, but my days of catching psychotic bent cops are over. Anyway, we’d best be heading off now and let you rest.” 

“Go fuck yourself, Doyle.” He smiled before turning to Erica. “Delightful to see you again, Miss Davidson and if Doyle leaves you behind, I’ll be happy to help hunt her down.” 

“I’ll hold you to that.” 

Franky assisted Erica out of the chair and together they turned to leave the room. “Oh, and one more thing, McMahon, my mates call me Franky.” 

**** **** **** 

Franky and Erica stood on the pavement outside the hospital. The long, cold winter was finally over and with the signs of spring now in full bloom, office workers were out in abundance enjoying their lunch break. 

Erica sighed. “That would be me if I was at work - assuming I had time to take a break. I don’t think I’ve ever taken time out from the rat-race to appreciate just how precious life is.” 

Franky nodded in agreement. “Yep. Say, do you feel like a drink, Erica?” 

“Isn’t it a little early to be drinking? Given we haven’t even had breakfast, yet?” 

“Okay then. Let’s skip breakfast and make it a belated celebratory lunch with a nice expensive bottle of wine. I know of a superb restaurant nearby which sells the most exquisite seafood. I’ll even let you pay.” Franky winked. 

Erica laughed. “Classy. This dame’s sold!” 

The lunchtime rush was in full swing, but Franky spotted a vacant table up the back of the restaurant. As they followed the waiter and navigated their way around several tables, she noticed a familiar face. “Hey, isn’t that Derek Channing?” 

In the corner of the restaurant concealed by the dim lighting, sat Channing with a stunning redheaded woman who looked half his age. The woman was enjoying the attention Channing was giving her, making no attempt to thwart his wandering hands. 

A wicked smile spread across Erica’s face. “Sure is, and it looks like he has company. Let’s say hi.” 

“Are you sure?” For once, Franky was the hesitant one. “What about your career? Channing could still inflict some serious damage.” 

“No, he won’t, because I know something the redhead doesn’t know - yet. Besides, there are far more important things in life than a career. Do you fancy a game of tennis? I’ll serve.” She led Franky over to Channing’s table. “Hello, Derek.” 

Channing was sipping his wine and almost choked upon seeing Erica. He almost choked again, when he saw Franky standing beside her, holding her hand. 

“Erica! You’re looking... good,” he began awkwardly. “I hear you’ve been busy of late.” 

“No, I look like shit, but that’s okay because we’ve been busy,” she corrected him. “But where are my manners! Do you remember Franky Doyle?” 

Channing acknowledged Franky’s presence with a grunt and a curt nod. Franky didn’t even bother to reciprocate. 

Derek’s companion leaned over the table and everyone copped an eyeful of her very generous cleavage. “Who is this woman, Derek?” 

Erica smiled at the redhead. “I’m the woman who refused this scumbag’s proposition and it probably cost me my job.” 

Channing shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “You resigned because there was a murder under your care.” 

“You keep telling yourself that. We both know the real reason I left.” 

“I’m disappointed in you, Erica. I thought my little talk with you convinced you not to take things further. All it takes is one phone call.” 

“Give it your best shot. My public profile is a hell of a lot more respectable than yours.” 

“Respectable? You’re the one having a relationship with a prisoner!” 

Franky clenched her fist and stepped forward, but Erica quickly threw her arm out to prevent her from punching Channing in the face. 

“Ex prisoner, Derek. And yes, she is my partner.” 

Channing smirked. “So you can no longer deny you had nothing to do with those letters that Doyle wrote you?” 

“I stand by what I said in that kangaroo court you organised at such short notice, and I crossed no boundaries at Wentworth. Franky’s done her time and I’m no longer employed for the Department of Corrections, so it’s no one’s business what we do with our lives. And it’s not like we’ve disrespected any sacred vows either, you two-timing piece of shit.” 

“Derek? What does she mean?” The annoyance in the redhead’s voice evident. 

“To you, sweetie? It means that if I’d accepted Derek’s proposition as his fling on the side, I’d still be governor at Wentworth, and therefore sitting in your seat playing the role of the other woman instead of you.” 

“Excuse me, but I’m Derek’s girlfriend, not some other woman...” 

“I’ve had enough of this. Waiter!” Channing called out. 

“Enough about me, how is your lovely wife? I really must give Lauren a call soon and catch up over a coffee.” 

This was news to Channing’s girlfriend. “You told me you’ve never married, Derek!” 

“And your two boys!” Erica interrupted her. “They must be in high school by now!” 

That was enough to set the redhead off. “Children? You lying bastard, Derek!” 

“She’s the one lying, Helena!” 

“What would I have to gain from lying? As you can see, I have no interest in you, nor do I want my job back.” 

“Helena, I...” 

Helena rose from the table and slapped him hard across the face. “How dare you take me for a fool, Derek! Give my regards to your wife!” 

Diners stopped eating and talking to watch the drama unfold as Helena stormed through the restaurant, screaming obscenities over her shoulder, before slamming the door behind her. They all turned in unison, eagerly awaiting further fallout from Channing’s table. 

“Never try to threaten or blackmail me again, Derek, or I shall use every available resource to screw you by dragging your sorry arse through the courts. Not to mention having to explain your indiscretions not just to the Department, but to your wife, too.” 

Channing gave Erica an icy cold glare, but one which also signalled defeat. “You’ve made your point, now get out.” 

“Not quite. Since we’re airing your dirty laundry anyway, let me add another item to the pile.” Erica picked up a glass of red wine and tipped its entire contents down his white business shirt. “Game, set and match. Have a nice day, Mr Channing.” 

A round of thunderous applause and whistling exploded from everyone in the restaurant, including Franky who was in fits of laughter. “Hey Channing, remember those letters you read? They’re nothing compared to the real deal.” 

Franky continued to laugh as she followed Erica back out on the street. “So, no crossing boundaries, huh? What about that kiss in your office?” 

“I said I didn’t cross any boundaries. You on the other hand...” 

“You are such a lawyer!” 

“It’s not my fault you instigated that kiss. However, I will take full responsibility for instigating this...” She pulled Franky in close by her collar, kissing her passionately for all to see. 

**** **** ****

 ** _One week later..._**  

Franky arrived back at the apartment after a hectic day to find Erica in the kitchen preparing dinner. 

“I thought I banned you from the kitchen?” Franky said as she wrapped her arms around Erica from behind. 

“Cute, Franky, but awfully game given I’m armed with a vegetable peeler and I now know how to use it. How did your meeting with Corey go?” 

Franky released her and leaned against the bench, watching Erica peel potatoes. “Pretty good. I got to meet his aunt, who’s actually a decent lady. She had a falling out with her brother over his decision to abandon his only child, but could not find Corey after he ran away. Now he’s made contact, his aunt wants to be his legal guardian and to live with her, which he’s accepted. Corey’s even promised me he’ll attend school again.” 

“It feels good helping people, doesn’t it? You have a natural affinity with these children because you know exactly what it’s like to be in their shoes.” 

“Yeah, it does,” Franky hesitated. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking and have decided that being a lawyer is not for me. I’ve only got six months until graduation, so I’ll finish Uni and that way I’ll have a degree to my name.” 

“That’s a big decision, but hardly surprising.” 

“You’re not mad?” 

“Why should I be?” 

“You were the one who got me into law back at Wentworth and I was afraid you’d think I gave up too easily.” 

“Law suited you back then, and it gave you something to focus on. Quitting is not your style, and you have the intelligence to do whatever it is you want to do. So, do you have any idea what you would like to do with the rest of your life?” 

“I’d like to help the disadvantaged youth. Helping Corey really gave me a sense of self-worth and made me realise that what these kids need most, is someone to confide and trust, and will never give up on them. Bit like you with me, really.” They smiled at one another. “Besides, I reckon it’s more my forte given my upbringing.” 

“Out to save the entire world, Franky?” 

“Eventually. But I have to start somewhere, don’t I?” 

Erica laughed. “I’m proud of you and I’ll support you in whatever you do. You now have enough knowledge of how the law works and can use it to defend these underprivileged kids and help give them a voice.” 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought, too. Thanks, Erica.” She leaned in and stole a kiss. “What have you been up to today other than trying to burn down the kitchen?” 

“Just for that smartarse remark, I’m not telling you about the surprise I have for you. You’ll just have to find it now,” Erica said in a playful tone. 

“A surprise for me? Give me a clue.” 

“It’s small, transportable and is somewhere in this apartment.” 

“You know, I have to warn you, I have an unfair advantage. My time in Wentworth taught me how to hide and find contraband so the screws wouldn’t find it.” 

“Well, this time the Governor has hidden it, and she’s challenging you to find it. No cheating or any forms of torture, either!” 

“Party-pooper. Okay, challenge accepted, Governor Davidson.” 

Almost an hour had passed and Franky had virtually torn the place apart, no closer to finding her surprise.

“Cold!” Franky heard Erica shout from the next room. She was rummaging through the desk drawers and was nearly out of places to look. 

Franky stormed out of the spare bedroom and into the kitchen where Erica was leaning side on against the long marble bench, cradling a cup of coffee in her hands. 

“I’m thinking of tying you to the bed and tickling you until you tell me what you’ve hidden.” 

“I said no torture – not yet, anyway. And you’re getting warmer,” she teased mercilessly, as she took a sip. 

“How about no sex for a month?” 

“You’d be punishing yourself, too.” 

“Good point.” Franky stood there, hands on hips and shaking her head. “Okay, I will admit, you have me stumped on this one.” 

Erica looked pleased with herself. “Give up?” 

“No. It’s not my style to quit, remember?” She walked past Erica and gave her a playful light slap on the arse. 

“Ouch!” Erica jolted forwards, spilling coffee on the kitchen tiles. 

“I barely touched you!” 

Erica quickly looked away, using the excuse of placing the cup back on the bench to disguise the guilty expression on her face. 

Franky eyed her off suspiciously. The penny dropped, and she flashed that cheeky grin which quickly turned to laughter. “Oh Erica! You didn’t!” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said in a fluster as she crossed her arms, trying to keep the charade up a little longer. 

“Okay, drop ‘em,” Franky demanded, clicking her fingers. 

“I beg your pardon?” She tried to keep a straight face, but failed miserably. 

“C’mon, let’s see the goods.” 

Erica wasn’t budging, so Franky moved towards her and unzipped her skirt, allowing the garment to drop to the floor. Erica was going commando and with good reason. There, upon her right cheek was a perfect replica of one of Franky’s tattoos - a single pink blossom. 

“Erica, l...” 

“Baby, please say you like it,” she said with concern, when she saw the look of shock upon Franky’s face. 

She teared up. “I do, I just...” 

Erica understood. She cupped Franky’s face in her hands and leant against it with her own. “I took a photo of your tattoos while you were asleep,” she explained. “I know how you used the blossom tattoos to cover such a painful time in your life, but I also figured since blossoms represent Spring, it also symbolises a new beginning - not just for you, but for the both of us.” 

The gesture touched Franky, and she put her arms around Erica’s neck, and kissed her. “You know, once you get inked, it’s hard to stop.” 

Erica laughed. “We’ll see!” 

“Wanna fool around, gorgeous?” 

“What about dinner? It’s nearly done.” 

“So you’ll keep your record for burning dinner every time intact.” 

“Okay, but no spanking. My arse hurts, a lot!” 

“Which reminds me, while I was searching, I found this little gem hidden amongst your underwear.” She held up a pair of handcuffs. “Where did you swipe the bracelets from?” 

“How do you know I didn’t purchase them?” 

“Hello, ex-con here. I know police-issued handcuffs when I see them.” 

“I... er... may have borrowed them from McMahon’s bedside drawer at the hospital.” 

“So you did steal them! You’re turning into a perverted criminal!” Franky laughed. “Not that I’m complaining. What exactly do you have in mind for these, Miss Davidson?” 

Erica gave her a mischievous smile. “I’m sure we could find a use for them.” 

“Yeah, I bet we could.” Franky took her mobile out of her pocket as she led Erica to the bedroom. “Time to start on that new photo album, only I’ll take the photos.” 

**** **** **** 

 ** _25th September_**  

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Erica asked Franky as she parked the car alongside the kerb. 

“Yep,” Franky answered nervously. She took a moment to gather her thoughts. 

“I can come with you, if you’d like me to.” 

“Thanks, but I need to do this on my own.” 

Erica smiled and gave Franky a quick kiss on the cheek. “I’ll be here waiting.” 

Franky rang the bell and stood anxiously in front of the door of the renovated single storey Edwardian house. She pictured Brian standing on the same verandah many years before, holding the birthday presents for the twins which his ex-wife rejected. 

Cynthia was a diminutive woman, whose cold dark blue eyes and long chin complimented her blonde hair tied back in a tight bun, and she reminded Franky of a strict history teacher she had in her high school years. Her thin lips gave a courteous if somewhat insincere smile; her whole demeanour appeared guarded. Franky held out her hand. “Hello Mrs Price, I’m Franky Doyle.” 

Cynthia looked at Franky’s hand in distaste as if she had some highly contagious disease and opted to fold her arms instead. “I know exactly who you are,” she replied rather coldly. “What do you want?” 

“I’d like to see Maddison and Katie.” Franky wasn’t sure if it was wise to mention the letters, so she kept it as vague as possible. “I have something of theirs which I know their father would have wanted them to have.” 

“Whatever it is, the children are not interested.” 

“Excuse me, but at fourteen years of age, I’m sure the children are old enough to make that decision on their own, but if you wish to make things difficult, then I have my lawyer sitting out in the car.” Franky was bluffing, she knew she had no jurisdiction here. 

“Well, maybe she’d like to meet my husband - he’s a lawyer, too.” 

“Brian was their father...” 

“‘Father’ was nothing more than an inconvenient title to him. He was never there for them, never bothering to send the girls a birthday card. Not once! They have no interest in him, and it was his own fault.” 

Appalled at the spite of the woman, Franky refrained from calling her out for lying. “Brian is dead and you’ve gotten your wish for the twins to never see their father again. What more do you want?” 

“I want you to leave these premises immediately, or I will call the police. Criminals like you should never be released from prison.” 

It was times like this Franky wished Boomer were by her side. “I’m leaving, but just remember, should your children ever learn the truth, it will be you they hate. Tell them about their father before it’s too late.” 

Cynthia retaliated by slamming the door shut in Franky’s face. 

“And you have a nice day, too... bitch,” Franky mumbled under her breath as she walked out the gate and back to the car. She was about to hop in when she noticed two young girls standing on the corner of the street. Franky approached the girls cautiously. 

“I’m Maddison, and this is Katie. We see you’ve met our charming mother.” 

“I’m Franky Doyle.” 

“Yes, we saw you on the news. You worked with our father.” 

“He wasn’t my father...” 

“Shut up, Katie!” 

Franky liked how Maddison opted to use those words, rather than ‘the one accused of murdering our father’, as it showed Maddison to be mature beyond her years. As for Katie, she was not so sure about. “Is there someplace we can talk?” 

Maddison nodded. “There’s a park across the road.” 

Franky followed the girls to the park and sat opposite them at the picnic table. Even though they were almost identical to their mother, she could see some of Brian’s features, namely his big brown eyes. 

“Guess l’ll start,” Franky said, as she pulled the letters out of her pocket and laid them on the table. “Just making a long overdue delivery of mail to their rightful owners. My apologies for not delivering them sooner, but I’ve been sidetracked for the last three months.” 

“What makes you think we’d be interested in anything a dead man has to say?” Katie asked coldly. 

“Katie, please let Franky speak,” Maddison scolded her sister as she reached over and pulled the bundle towards her. “You must excuse Katie, she’s like our mother, always guarded and non-trusting. I’m more like our father - much to mum’s annoyance - but we’re both curious to the contents of those letters.” 

“I have the greatest amount of respect and admiration for your father,” Franky said. “He gave me a chance when no one else gave a damn and that goes a long way when you’re an ex-con. Look, I know he had his faults, but I also know he loved you both so much and talked about his regrets of never being there for you. I don’t know exactly what’s in those letters, but I think you’ll find the answers you’ve been seeking all these years.” 

“Why should we forgive him? To feel for a man who was never there and never will be?” It was obvious Katie would remain defiant despite being chastised earlier. 

“I can’t tell you what to feel, Katie, but don’t spend your life hating. It’s such a powerful emotion which will consume you and eventually put a dent in your soul. Despite what you may think, Brian wouldn’t want that. I’m not here to ask you to forgive your father, instead I ask of you both to read the letters first, before passing judgement upon him and condemning yourselves to a lifetime of unnecessary hate and bitterness.” 

 _Like I have, with Alan._  

Franky stood up and handed Maddison the spare key to Brian’s house. “When you’re ready, Brian’s address is on the back of those envelopes, and there’s a whole suitcase of returned letters in the attic of his house.” 

“Thank you, Franky.” Maddison stood up and hugged her. 

“Yeah... thanks Franky,” Katie remained seated, her lack of affection inherited from their mother. 

“By the way, happy birthday,” Franky said as she made to leave. 

**** **** **** 

“Is everything ok?” Erica asked as Franky got back into the car. 

“Reckon so. I’ve been thinking... my anger and hatred have been ghosting me my whole life. If I’m serious about wanting a future for myself, then I need to deal with my past and the best way I can do that is to make amends with my dad – not just for the sake of Tess, but for myself, too.” 

“What made you decide that?” 

“Brian made me realise the night before he died that there’s always two sides to every story. I didn’t want to hear it because it meant trying to see things from a different perspective which could soften my hate towards Alan. Besides, it became more of a convenience to hide behind that facade. But after speaking with Brian’s daughters... I can never change my past, but I realise now that what I do in the present, will affect my future – and that’s not written yet. Maybe I’m finally ready to hear Alan’s story. Besides, I don’t want Tess missing out on having an older sister.” 

“Or the infinite wisdom of the legendary Franky Doyle,” Erica quipped as she placed two fingers under Franky’s chin and kissed her lightly on the lips. “You’ve come a long way since our tutoring days in Wentworth.” 

“We both have, Erica.” 

“Where to now, baby?” 

“Let’s go wherever the road takes us.” 

“That is such a corny cliché! Seriously, we need some sort of guidance.” 

“Okay.” Franky contemplated for a moment before replying. “How about... you be Thelma, and l’ll be Louise?” 

“What?” Erica frowned in confusion. 

“It wouldn’t work the other way ‘round. Besides, I would look better wearing the cowboy hat!” 

Erica laughed. “You’re serious? What about my career? And I thought you wanted to save the world?” 

“I can still help the disadvantaged. I don’t need a degree for that, at least not straight away. And you’ve been talking about how bored you are with your career and wanting to appreciate life more. Look, I’m not saying we go away forever, just long enough to discover who we really are. Make sure we’re sexually compatible with one another.” 

“Oh, I don’t think we’ll have any problems in that department.” 

“Yeah, but think of all the fun we’ll have perfecting our naughty desires, Thelma!” 

“You realise that movie ended badly, right?” 

Franky shrugged and crossed her arms. “Yeah, but unlike Thelma and Louise, we’re not running from the law, anymore.” 

Erica shook her head and laughed as she turned the ignition. “Okay, Louise, we’ll go wherever the road takes us, but I have to warn you - l’m not driving off any cliffs for you!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone for supporting me and reading until the end - I hope you’ve enjoyed the ride!
> 
> For those of you who want to check out the real Pentridge Prison, this 20 minute video by Jethro Heller called ‘Letters from Pentridge’ is a fascinating insight into life behind bars and includes footage of when the tv series, ‘Prisoner’ (Wentworth’s predecessor) did a live variety show at the prison.
> 
> https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=0LDrkFnP-fE
> 
> Time for me to take a break to regenerate the brain cells and read some of the wonderful fanfic on AO3. Keep a look out for the sequel coming later this year called ‘The Hit List’.
> 
> The_Fifth_Marauder


End file.
